


Brightest

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Situations, Angst, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fluff, POV Second Person, Post-Iron Man 2, Reader-Insert, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: [F Name] [L Name]: Tony’s Stark’s “invisible friend.” She’s invisible in all the wrong ways–at least until Tony spots her years after telling her to get out of his life. With Yinsen’s words in mind, Tony decides to pursue their lost relationship, only to find that [Name] might not be as willing as before. What Tony doesn't know, however, is that the confusion of her life might end up the best of his.





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> If you've attempted to get through my second "Avengers" collection called "Happily Ever After," you might have read the connected one shots "You" and "The Devil in Me." In the first, I mentioned that it inspired an entire story, and here is that story! This is actually its second incarnation, and (like almost all my stories), it hasn't been finished. It's very hard to work on something once you realize all the adults are acting like dramatic high school students, but I am _trying_ to get things back on track with every chapter I post.
> 
> Fun fact: the first chapter is the _second_ most common chapter I find stolen and slapped on FF.net with the name blanks changed, after "Toil and Trouble." Not sure why; nothing romantic even happens in the first chapter.

You barely saw New York as the city slid by the window in front of your glassy-eyed gaze. Headlights, flashing advertisements, and the glow of apartment windows all illuminated your features only momentarily before brushing past you and leaving you to your car’s dark interior. The space between you and your companion seemed infinitesimally small, even though you had your knees drawn to your chest and your eyes off of his face. Maybe it was just the silence, making him seem closer than he was. All the excitement of the hour before felt as though it had been crammed like cotton down your throat. You could hardly breathe as you listened to his fingers tapping against his phone screen. 

For months, you’d been waiting: waiting to appear in court, waiting for the inevitable release of your boyfriend from prison, and waiting for the claustrophobic car ride to the airport. As passive as those months had been, you still felt exhausted. Sleep pricked against the back of your eyes, but you knew better then to try to rest. Rest, and your boyfriend would notice. Rest, and he would be hurt. 

Just as you thought this, Justin let out something between a whoop of excitement and a dark chuckle. “I can’t believe it.” His shoulder pressed against yours so that you would focus your attention on him. “Look, they’ve already got the story posted!” 

He turned his phone so that you could see the screen. There, in high-definition, blue-white glow, were the bolded words “HAMMER CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES,” and beneath that, in smaller type, “Queens Business Head to Spend Vacation Period in Malibu, CA.” Even farther down the page–and what you knew to be what Justin most wanted you to notice–was a photograph, one of the both of you. The embrace pictured was almost lurid; you felt your cheeks burn, though the darkness would hopefully hide your embarrassment. Worse still, you could clearly see Justin’s tongue, just a flash of it, slithering into your mouth. 

Clearly, he saw that, too, because he laughed again–more cheerfully that time–and pocketed his phone. “Interesting choice for the picture,” he remarked, though the smirk gave him away. “But, hey, us getting a little excited, that’s understandable, right? It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my [Name].” 

His arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you, somehow, closer to him. At the same time, Justin’s eyebrows rose above the frames of his glasses. He wanted an answer. You opened your mouth, but the cotton remained. You settled for a smile, but that wasn’t enough. He squeezed you tighter, his smile returning. 

“Why so shy, [Name]? Surely you missed me while I was gone?” 

The fingers beating rhythmically against your shoulder drummed your voice out of your throat. “Of course I missed you. I was…driven to distraction, without you around.” 

Justin’s smirk blossomed into a smile. He bent forward, and you felt his lips on your forehead. At the same time, his other hand pulled up the end your shirt. You forced yourself to remain relaxed, even as you made to stare outside again. His lips found the shell of your ear; his words tickled as he whispered: 

“Good, good. The press will like that. The head of [Last Name] Industries, pining for her lover, wrongfully accused and awaiting sentencing in jail. Everyone will eat it up.” 

You said nothing, and Justin pulled away. Now both his hands gripped you as he forced you to look at him. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “Hey. You didn’t think they’d actually _convict_ me, did you?” 

You allowed yourself another tiny smile, hoping that all the events of the day would explain your lack of enthusiasm. “No, of course not.” 

Justin snorted. “My lawyers are too good for that. It was just a waiting game. Although they could have made me wait less, you know? You’d think I went out and personally murdered all of those people, the way everyone was going on about it.” 

“Mm, well.” You sat up just long enough to peck him on the cheek. “We’ll be in Malibu before morning.” 

This earned you another harsh bark of laughter, though Justin also released you. “Thank god. The sooner I see the back of New York, the better. How long have we been driving, anyway? Where are we?” Justin leaned forward and rapped on the glass between the passenger seats and the driver. “Did you hear me?” he called as the driver lowered the glass. “Where are we?” 

“Flushing Meadows, sir.” 

“Flushing Meadows?” you asked, voice high, and then you saw it: the flashing lights, the fireworks, the massive throng of jostling people. Your eyes snapped shut, but the damage was done. The pain was already there, throbbing in your chest. But it would be behind you soon, just like the rest of the day’s ordeal. 

“Oh, hey, what a coincidence!” The back of Justin’s hand smacked your side. “Stark Expo. Isn’t tonight the last night?” 

“Yes, sir. It is,” said the driver. 

“[Name], we have _got_ to check this out.” 

Your eyes popped open, your knees finding your chest once more. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Even as the words escaped you, you knew you should have kept them on the inside. You were not to make things harder, and a fight would make things harder. The smile on Justin’s face didn’t leave entirely, it just...twisted. His amusement, formally focused on his narrow escape, was now aimed straight at you. “Not a good idea?” he repeated. “Why isn’t it a good idea?” 

You swallowed, and when you spoke again, your voice was barely a whisper. “You just got out of a trial where you were accused of being involved in the deaths of twenty-six people at the Stark Expo. Not to mention all the property damage.” 

“They got everything cleaned up, didn’t they? Besides, I’ve been out of touch with the world for so long. I _need_ to check up on the competition. Much as I hate to admit it, the Stark Expo will be where all the competition is at. Besides,” he added, “you father wouldn’t be happy if you skipped out on this opportunity, would he?” 

Your very bone marrow turned to ice at the mention of your father. If Justin told him that you had purposely skipped out on trying to gather market intel–and Justin _would_ –your father would not be happy. But the Stark Expo was the last place on the entire planet that you wanted to be. “Please, Justin,” you said, a little more loudly. “It’s late. I just want to go home.” 

“[Name], you know I wouldn’t ask you to go if you really didn’t want to. I can understand if you’re tired. It must have been exhausting, sitting around and waiting for my trial to come up, and for me to be declared innocent of all wrongdoing. Really _stressful_. I mean, after all I’m the one that’s been stuck in jail for the past few months. I might want to get out a little. But if it’s home you want, [Name], we’ll go right now.” 

Guilt walloped you in the stomach, but it did not force you to vomit out your last vestiges of fight. You made yourself place your feet your feet on the floor and rest your hands at your sides. “Justin,” you said, trying to infuse as much sincerity into your words as possible. “What if the media sees you there? Don’t you think it’s a little early for you to be rubbing it in Tony’s face that you were acquitted?” 

“No one is going to notice I’m there. Every news outlet in the country is going to be focused on Anthony’s triumph, now that my time in the limelight is over.” Justin must have noticed your change of color that time, because he laughed again. “Is that what this is all about? Are you still scared of Anthony?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Because that would be stupid even for you, [Name]. That fight was ages ago. You're way above Anthony now. No need to bother with him anymore.” 

You forced a grin and quickly took Justin’s nearest hand to give it a squeeze. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. If you want to visit Stark Expo, Justin, we should visit.” 

In response, Justin frowned. “Are you sure?” You nodded. “Really sure?” 

“Yes, Justin. Obviously I’m not going to run into Tony, and what kind of business woman would I be if I didn’t scope out my competitors when I had the chance?” 

Slowly, He smiled again. His teeth flashed in the darkness as he leaned his head back toward the driver. “Hey, pull over. [Name] wants to check to the Expo out.” 

“Right away, sir.” 

Despite the lateness of the hour, traffic remained at a near stand-still, which explained how your car remained close enough to get you to the Expo grounds. As it ticked slowly closer, you prayed. Maybe the Expo would draw to a close before you and Justin ever made it there. 

But Tony never had been a believer in “early to bed, early to rise.” Even as you walked beside Justin into the main gate, crowds migrated loudly inside along with you. You flinched as you passed a pair of security guards, but either they did not recognize you or Justin, or they simply didn’t care that the last time the latter had shown up had turned into a nightmare. Justin, fortunately, was too preoccupied to notice your nerves. He kept an eye out for interesting tech; you kept an eye out for cameras. 

It didn’t seem very long before he stopped you to say, “We’ll cover more ground if we split up.” Automatically, your hand anchored around his wrist. The stream of people continued around you, oblivious to the stationary couple in its midst. 

“That’ll just make it harder to find each other when we need to leave,” you said, and this time you could not help the pleading note that crept into your voice. 

“It’ll be fine,” said Justin as he pried himself free of your grip and pressed his lips quickly to your forehead. “You worry too much. I’ll text you when it’s time to meet back at the car.” 

“Justin, wait!” 

He was gone. Panic fluttered through your veins, a million butterflies that took up roost in your head. You looked around wildly, but Justin had disappeared entirely. You rushed first to the left–tripping several people that didn’t take too happily to the event–and then to the right, where you stumbled through a gap in the crowd and fell gasping to the cement. The ground scuffed briefly at your knees and elbows, but soon you were up again and looking desperately about once more. 

_Alone_. You were at Stark Expo entirely alone. What if Tony saw you? He’d be so angry. Without Justin, you would have no course but to accept his assumption that you had come of your own volition. A quiet, reasonable voice in the back of your head reminded you that the Expo was enormous, and that Tony was probably too preoccupied at the moment to even recognize your face should he pass by. But you just couldn't get yourself to listen to reason that evening. 

You moved quickly through the Expo, hardly taking in any of the innovation featured at the stands lining the road. A scream clawed at your chest, but you would not open your mouth to release it. Neither you nor Justin could afford discovery. 

Running around like a lost child, it soon dawned on you, would only attract attention. After a moment’s pause to collect yourself, you found a bench and sank shakily onto it. A trembling hand covered your eyes, but the scene around you did not fade like some terrible dream. Perhaps Justin would text soon, but he would be disappointed if you had nothing to report. Although your legs still felt like jelly, you forced yourself to your feet, only to walk straight into another woman. 

“I’m so sorry!” you squealed as the lights popped in front of your eyes. Perhaps you wouldn’t have bothered with the apology if you had been able to see that she had a microphone clenched in her hand. You looked up wildly to note that particular detail–and the trailing cameraman–just in time for her to get a good look at your face. 

“It’s no trouble. Wait a minute. Are you–You’re [F Name] [L Name]!” 

Numb professionalism flooded through your veins and up to your head. You went blank, immediately. No more panic. No more fear. No more thinking. A smile appeared on your face as you stood up straighter to look directly at the woman. 

“Why, yes, I am.” 

“This is excellent. I was just lamenting the fact that there weren’t any notable people to interview–and here you are!” 

You laughed. “Here I am.” 

The woman turned and called out to people entirely invisible to you, “Hey, everybody! It’s [F Name] [L Name]!” Before anyone could answer, she turned back to you, beaming. “Are you enjoying the Expo? It’s your first appearance here, is it not?” 

“Yes, it is. I felt obligated to take a look at things, since I was in town.” 

“Taking a good look at the competition, huh?” 

“Sure thing.” You winked. The pool of reporters steadily grew. Camera flashes popped dizzyingly across your face. “Mr. Stark certainly does know how to obtain the best of the best.” 

“And yet [L Name] Industries did not have a booth this year,” called another gentleman. You flashed another smile in the direction the voice came from, though you could not see him yourself. “Were you prevented by Stark Industries from obtaining one?” 

“I’m afraid that we simply didn’t get our application in soon enough. I’m certain that Mr. Stark would not prevent us from showing due to personal conflicts.” 

“Miss [L Name],” cried another reporter. “Is your appearance at the Expo proof that your highly publicized fight with Mr. Stark after the death of his father is now behind the two of you?” 

“Mr. Stark and I–” 

“You and I…what?” 

With a rush of horror that put out any hope of a successful interview, you turned to look at the newcomer. Standing right beside you, looking highly amused, was Tony Stark. Your mouth fell open. The words died before you could even give them breath. In the hurricane of your silence, the media only grew louder, the photographing more frenzied. All the while, Tony stood smiling at you with his hands in his pockets. 

“I saw the crowd,” he remarked as he at last took his eyes off of your face and turned them toward the crowd surrounding him. “Strange occurrence, there being someone more interesting than _me_ on the final night of my own Expo.” 

That got a general laugh. The instinct to fold into yourself drove itself up from your toes to your head, but the cameras were still recording. Justin would see this. Your family would see this. You could not disappoint them. After a moment of searching, you found your lost, bland smile, and hitched it back on, just in time to hear the reporters take up questioning Tony instead. 

“Mr. Stark, what do you think about Miss [L Name]’s appearance here?” 

With a frown, Tony gave you a once over. “She could do something about the bags under her eyes.” Your smile grew both wider and drier in response to those words. Tony grinned. “But, really, I’m just as surprised to see her as you all are.” 

“Was she invited?” someone from the back shouted. 

Tony shrugged. “She’s allowed to be here, if that’s what you mean. I certainly don’t mind.” 

“What about that fight of yours all those years ago?” 

“Fight?” Tony shot you a questioning look, which you met with trembling lips before stepping forward and back into the fray. 

“As you said, that fight was years ago,” you answered. “We were young. I don’t even remember what we fought about.” 

“I don’t even remember that we fought.” 

Another bout of laughter. Before someone could lob a reminder of Tony’s words– _“Don’t ever contact me again. What we have–whatever ‘this’ is? We’re through.”_ –you grabbed the nearest microphone and spoke. “It’s been a pleasure seeing Mr. Stark again, but I really must be going. I was supposed to leave for Malibu an hour and a half ago.” 

“I should get going, too,” said Tony. “The closing ceremony will be starting in fifteen minutes, guys. You might want to go get yourselves set up.” 

No one seemed particularly enthusiastic about ending the interview there, but the reporters dispersed slowly anyway. You stood ramrod-straight waiting for them to clear enough that you could make a break for it. Tony’s presence felt like a constant fire pressing heat against your body. You could not ignore him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him either. The sooner you got away, the better. 

At last you could. Without waiting for someone to break away to ask for a more private interview, you loped away. You would text Justin once you got outside–feign illness, feign anger, anything that it would take to get away from Flushing Meadows, New York. The illness would be easiest; you’d felt like throwing up ever since Tony Stark had appeared. 

“[Name]!” 

Your heart sank into the vicinity of your lower intestine. It took all the self-control you had to breathe deeply in, then turn to see Tony jogging toward you. Maybe you could run, but that would be rude, and your rudeness would get out somehow. So, you waited, although you did not offer Tony a smile as he neared. 

“I thought you had a closing ceremony to prepare for,” you said once he was near enough to hear your normal speaking voice. Tony waved these words away. 

“It can wait. Can’t exactly start without me.” He fell silent and regarded you for a moment. You blinked sedately back, willing yourself not to blush. “What _are_ you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry,” you said lightly. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

He shook his head. “You didn’t intrude. Half the state of New York is here. It’s not like you need an invitation. I was just curious. Doesn’t really seem like your scene.” 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to know my kind of scenes these days.” 

His brow furrowed a bit at that; he reached up to scratch the side of his head. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s right. It’s been how long now?” 

“Since your father’s funeral.” 

“Oh,” he said. Then his eyes widened. “ _Oh._ ” 

“At any rate,” you said, a little more loudly than normal, in the hopes that it would derail Tony’s train of thought, “I was just in New York City, and driving past. I thought I’d take a look around. I’ll be out of your hair shortly.” 

“Why the rush? It’s the last night. You may as well enjoy it. Come see the closing ceremonies.” He gestured behind him at the Expo’s largest structure. “I promise it’ll be a really fantastic show.” 

“Knowing you, Tony, I have no doubt that it will be. But I really need to be going. My driver is waiting for me.” 

“So? Just have him wait a little longer. Isn’t that what Daddy [L Name] pays him to do?” 

“Daddy [L Name] has a few strings attached to allowing me the use of my driver,” you said. The false note of humor in your voice hurt your ears. “He expected me home in Malibu a while ago, and if he finds out I wasted all that time here…” You trailed away and shrugged to finish. Tony nodded. 

“Still hates my guts, huh?” 

“Your guts more than anyone else’s.” 

He laughed. “Well, I don’t see why trying to make him hate me less will benefit me. Come on, [Name]. Stay.” 

You looked him straight in the eyes. They crinkled slightly–with worry lines–before you spoke. “No, Tony.” 

For a moment, it appeared that he would continue to argue with you. Tony’s mouth opened; his tongue wet his lips; he angled his head very slightly upward. Then he let out a short breath and nodded again. “Okay. I’ll be in Malibu in a few days anyway. Maybe we could meet up.” 

You did not respond, just blinked and smiled blankly up at Tony. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and then thrust out his hand. 

“It was nice to see you again.” 

You didn’t take the hand. Your heart beat painfully in your chest. You couldn’t touch Tony. No, that was a bad idea, on almost every level there was. You took a wide step back and clapped your own hands behind your back. 

“Sure. Good luck with the rest of your Expo.” 

And before he could speak to you any more, you spun about and rushed for the entrance. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe Tony just turned right around and went back to his work. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that he stared at you until you reached the edge of his park, where you ducked into a forested area and sat with your hands gripped around your cellphone, waiting for Justin to contact you, as you shook and tried harder than you had in months not to cry.


	2. Stagnate

The Expo ended as all Stark Industries events should: with a flurry of light and color and sound. Red and gold fireworks burst across the night sky, dripping sparks toward the upturned faces of the cheering crowd below. The blaring music obscured their words, though the distinct squeals of “Tony” still rose high enough to be heard. The man in question smiled at the throng, gave a final wink, then ducked back into the relative quiet of the backstage area. Always leave them wanting more–one of the few tricks of the trade his old man had passed on that Tony had bothered to remember.

Almost as if by magic, Happy materialized at Tony’s elbow. Where had he been an hour ago when the paparazzi had cornered him outside? As if Tony didn’t already know. Their eyes met momentarily, and Tony gave Happy a brief nod before he stepped into the crowd waiting outside.

Although the closing ceremonies were still technically in full swing, a good portion of people had stopped long enough to gather around the walk to Tony’s car. Flashbulbs popped across his vision as he grinned and signed photographs and kissed baby after baby after baby. When at last he fell into the car waiting at the curb, it was nearly two o’ clock in the morning.

“Where to, sir?” Happy asked, sliding into the driver’s seat. Tony glanced up only once from removing the several lacy panties that had mysteriously appeared in his pockets after the show.

“Um…” Tony trailed away to blink out the window. The lateness of the hour made the idea of checking into a hotel tempting, but no doubt most of the hotels in the area were full. He just wasn’t in the mood to deal with kicking someone out of their room. “The plane, I guess. We could get back to Malibu by morning.”

“It _is_ morning.”

Tony frowned into the rear view mirror. Happy looked back steadily for another moment, then nodded and pulled away from the curve. As the lights of the Expo disappeared among the rest of the traffic, Tony plucked a pair of black panties from the seat beside him and held them up toward Happy with one finger.

“Want one?”

“No.”

“As a souvenir.”

“I don’t want a pair of dirty underwear.”

“They aren’t dirty. They’ve still got the tags on.”

“I have a girlfriend. I don’t need panties that clearly do not belong to her.”

“I’m pretty sure Pepper has a pair like this, actually.” Awkward silence filled the car. Happy’s eyes met Tony’s in the mirror once more as his eyebrows slowly furrowed. After another drawn out minute wherein Tony could hear only the asphalt crunching beneath the tires, he tossed the lingerie back onto the pile and looked back out the window. “Fine, fine. No panties. Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Tony snorted, too tired to think of a proper comeback. He stretched his legs out across the rest of the vacant back seat. Things with Happy had been tense since Tony and Pepper’s breakup, and Tony wanted nothing more than for the two of them to makeup. Clearly acting like nothing was wrong wasn’t the way to go. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, Tony didn’t really have any other ideas.

“Well, thank god that’s over with," he said, in lieu of a formal apology. 

Thankfully, Happy’s tone sounded pleasant when he responded, “Pepper will be pleased.”

Finally, a subject they could speak of without vague argument. Tony placed his feet back on the floor and leaned forward to put his elbows on the chair in front of him. “You know, I’m surprised she let me wrap that up, considering what a waste of time and money she thinks the Expo is.”

“The company had contracts with people appearing at the Expo. She couldn’t have cancelled it without legal proceedings.”

“Oh.” Tony cast his eyes toward the ceiling. “And she felt sorry for me, probably.”

That time, Happy chuckled, and Tony saw the corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth, though Happy’s gaze never left the road. “Probably that, too.”

“Well, it’s over now. No more fielding complaints about that.”

“She’ll find something else, I’m sure.”

“Ha. Me, too. At any rate, no more Expo contracts. No more sinkholes for the company’s money. She’ll find something better to do with it.”

Happy didn’t answer, and Tony shifted to look out the window again. The skyscrapers stood dark against the sky, shadows only noticeable because of the occasional light lingering in the night. As the shapes of the city blurred past, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He was used to late nights and fighting off exhaustion, but admittedly there wasn’t going to be much for him to do until he got home.

Home! The thought alighted in his mind; Tony felt it brush several times against his memory, and then it hit him: [Name]. Boy, hadn’t that been a blast from the past? To be honest, he hadn't given much thought to your existence until you had stood before him all those hours ago. But that was to be expected. If he was being honest about the last time you’d seen him, he had been a very different person at your parting. He’d barely bothered to give much thought to anyone's existence when he was eighteen.

“No wonder she acted like I had the plague,” he muttered to his reflection.

“New girlfriend, sir?” Happy asked.

Tony threw him a look and sat up again. “God, no. Hey, you know anything about [F Name] [L Name]?”

“The name sounds familiar. Doesn’t her family company rival yours?”

“Hardly.” In Donald [L Name]’s dreams, maybe. He was closer than Justin Hammer, but [L Name] Industries’ glory days had long since passed. “But I don’t care much about the company, just [Name]. I saw her today.”

“Is that what you were doing before the closing ceremonies? Sleeping with some girl?”

“What? No. Why would I sleep with _[Name]_? I saw a crowd of news reporters interviewing someone other than me and went to check it out.”

“Sir, how am I supposed to guard you if you’re never where you’re supposed to be?”

“Uh, _you’re_ the bodyguard. You tell me. I don’t care if you call your girlfriend on the clock, but don’t try to make _me_ feel guilty about wandering off when your attention is elsewhere.” Tony kept his tone light–after all, he really didn’t care, and he had come to no harm in the end. 

Happy shook his head. “One of the perks of guarding Iron Man: he doesn't need guarding.”

“One perk of many,” Tony replied. “At any rate, everyone was asking about some sort of fight we had.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but who _haven’t_ you fought with in the business world?”

Tony broke into a broad grin. “Guilty. Maybe I should talk to her. Give her a chance to get know the new me.”

“I don’t know. Does she want to get to know the new you?”

“Of course she does.” Tony paused. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Did she seem excited to see you?”

“Well…” Tony couldn’t remember very much of his encounter with you. You seemed every bit as bland and professional as you had when he’d first known you. “She never did like the limelight. Even we were kids. She probably just wanted to get away. And she said something about getting home to Malibu.”

He waited for Happy to offer some sort of insight–not that Tony would have listened to it, probably–but none came. All Happy did was shrug as he at last pulled up next to Stark Industries’ private plane. Tony stepped out before anyone could open the door for him. Happy was already half-buried in the trunk looking for the bags. When he emerged, he tossed the largest at Tony, who only barely caught the object.

“Then I say take her out for coffee.” Tony opened his mouth to ask why, but then a smirk peeled across Happy’s features. “After all, _you’re******_

Glaring sunshine filled your eyes as you finally came to a stop in front of the wide, sweeping walk leading up to your house. Despite the shade provided by your sunglasses, you still winced. Another all-nighter had you sensitive to even the barest light. To make things worse, Justin’s snoring aggravated your headache–though that was more the fault of your stressful evening before, rather than a lack of sleep.

The door by your elbow opened with a gentle clunk and you blinked in the resulting influx of sun to see the driver standing nearby, waiting for you to exit. Suddenly your hands felt full of static. Inside sat your father, and every news station in America had had time by then to run your disaster of an interview. As horrible as it was to wish atrocities on others, you prayed as you exited the vehicle that something had happened to keep your visage off the television.

“Ma’am?” asked the chauffeur. You paused at the steps to turn back to him. “What about him?”

From your position on the sidewalk, you could just barely see the back of Justin’s head, lolling slightly to the left of its rest. Waking him would only direct his grumpiness at you, and you didn’t need that on top of all the other things going on. You smiled at your driver.

“Could you wake him up for me and direct him inside? He’ll hate to be left in there, but Daddy won’t like it if I keep him waiting. You know how hard Mr. Hammer is to wake.”

He looked as though he wanted to reject your request, but hesitated for only a moment before he snapped his lips shut and gave you a nod. You widened your smile slightly, then jogged the rest of the way up the steps and into the house. As the massive door swung shut behind you, a feeling of claustrophobia descended onto your shoulders. The large entrance hall, however, remained entirely empty. Your footsteps echoed against the varnished floor as you walked across it; the camera stationed in a high corner whirred as it followed your movements.

It was something of a relief to have your homecoming ignored. Perhaps you could steal up to your room and hide away there for a few hours. Unfortunately, being ignored almost certainly meant that you’d managed some immense faux pas that would be dealt with harshly when your existence was remembered.

Before you could stew much on your predicament, you came to the winding staircase that led up to the landing that housed your room. You dropped your bag and looked carefully about the vacant living area. It seemed unlikely that the security team would not alert your parents to your arrival–and sure enough, a moment later, your mother appeared in the hallway, heels clacking as she threw her arms out.

“[Name]!” Your sunglasses must have obscured your terrified reaction, because your mother clapped you into a bear hug as soon as she reached you, smoothing your hair with one hand. After a second of hesitation, you hugged her back, only to have her take your shoulders and push you an arm’s length away from her. “Oh, dear, what have you have you been doing with yourself?”

You only forced a smile in response, something that wasn't exactly easy with her fingers press against your cheeks. She tutted as she spotted your forehead.

“Dear, we’ve been over this. If you don’t take care of your skin, Justin is going to drop you. Do you really want to lose the only man that will ever be interested in you?”

“No, Mother.”

“Remember, you’re lucky to have got this far with him. And your father needs Hammer Tech.”

“Yes, Mother.”

You combed your fingers through your hair to delay your impulse to sweep it in front of your face. Your mother smirked and leaned in conspiratorially.

“Speaking of being lucky. Did you get lucky during your little trip?” She winked as she thrust her hips forward twice. You colored straight up to your hairline and glanced self-consciously toward the door. The answer was, of course, yes. If you hadn’t joined the mile high club on one of your previous trips with Justin, you most certainly would have after his several months spent in jail. When you did not answer your mother, she rolled her eyes and popped you lightly on the back of the head. “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, [Name]. I hope you don’t give Justin that kind of attitude when it comes down to it.”

You could only offer her a wobbly smile. Your mother rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, I despair of you, [Name]. How did _you_ come out of me? If I was your age and Justin wanted to sleep with me, I certainly wouldn’t weasel out of it. Heavens, I’d take him up on the offer today!”

If you disliked speaking about your sex life with Justin, it was nothing in comparison to how you felt in regards to speaking of it with your mother. The staff had never been the kind to keep your family’s secrets, and you never knew who might have been lurking around, listening and eager to let Fox News know about this fetish or that, and the blame would be placed solely on your shoulders.

“Mother,” you said in a hushed, strangled voice, “what if Daddy hears?”

“Oh, it’s not as though he cares. So long as you keep Justin enchanted, there’s no harm done in you having a little bit of fun, if you’re even capable of enjoying yourself.” You opened your mouth, though no response was forthcoming. Thankfully, before a reply was expected, your mother gave a quick shake of her head, then her eyes widened. “Speaking of your father…”

The tone she spoke in had you wanting to sprint up the stairs and into bed–and never come out. Your fingers automatically latched around your mother’s wrist. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Your mother only pursed her lips and tugged her wrist forcefully from your grip. “Control yourself, [Name]. I don’t need you marking up my skin. Just because _you_ don’t care about what you look like doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. You’ve already done enough damage to my body.”

You bowed your head and took a hasty step backward. She scowled another minute or so longer, rubbing her wrist, before she gave it a last shake and placed her hands on her hips. “What I was _going_ to tell you is that you had better go speak to your father right away. He’ll be very displeased if you decide to sleep the day away, as you’re wont to do when you return from these sorts of trips.”

“What does he need to speak to me about?”

“Why in the world would _I_ know? The family business is between you and him. I really couldn’t care less. Though I would think, [Name], that you had better sense than to make up with _Anthony Stark_.” You froze and felt the blood draining from your face. Your mother took one look at your expression, then sniffed. “I suppose that _is_ giving you rather too much credit. After all, you were terribly fond of the boy as a child. Now run along, before your father goes into one of his rages and we both get in trouble.”

Your mother didn’t have to remind you twice. Given the situation, you wanted to dash all the way to your father’s home meeting room, but that would have been considered unladylike. Instead, you walked briskly, all the while trying to force your fear down, as it would do nothing but cause your father to become more upset.

The ornamentation in the hallways became increasingly less obtrusive as you grew closer to your father’s station. Fountains affixed to the walls dripped steady streams of water; potted plants peeked out of corners; portraits of your father and grandfather glowered down at you. By the time you arrived, the sun had truly risen, and sunlight poured in boxy patterns onto the thick red carpet.

You paused outside the doorway to take a deep breath. The door was opened, and through the gap drifted the voices of whatever news station your father had the television turned to and the rustling of papers. As you exhaled, you took off your sunglasses and placed them into the purse still clutched tightly in one hand. Then you swept inside.

“Daddy!” you said joyously. The room was an exact replica of his office back in his professional building, right down to the enormous television with its screen swiveled in the head chair’s direction. Though all other twelve chairs were empty, your father occupied his. Paperwork lay strewn in front of him, as well as a near-empty coffee mug, and a tray piled with the ashes still spilling from the cigar clenched between his teeth.

As usual, your father only grunted in response. His attention was focused on whatever piece of business was before him, though he signed the document with a large flourish only a second later. You stood silently and obediently at the opposite end of the table. Leaving before he spoke to you would mean trouble, and your mother would make some jab that evening about having warned you.

For several long minutes, your father said nothing. He sighed tremendously and turned to the television–which thankfully was running a story about an earlier altercation between Pakistan and Israel and _not_ your appearance at the Stark Expo–tapped his cigar several times above the ashtray, and flicked through his papers another two times. All the while, your heart beat like a caged hummingbird in your chest, though you tried your best to smile it away.

After what seemed nearly an hour, your father’s gaze finally shot up toward you.

“And where have _you_ been?”

The question was where your father wanted you to begin. Too early, he’d snap at you for wasting his time. Too late, and he would call you a simpleton. You were tempted to close your eyes to calm yourself, but your father would immediately pounce upon your show of weakness, so instead you just wiped your face clean of emotion.

“With Justin, Daddy. He’s staying here for a little bit. I went to go pick him up.”

“I am _aware_ of what Justin is doing, [Name]. Do not repeat my own plans to me. I want to know why you arrived home at nine-thirty this morning, when you were supposed to be here at seven-thirty last night.”

“Well–”

“Donald!”

You were saved from answering by Justin’s flamboyant appearance. Unlike you, he was well rested and bright. Justin had even had time to change his suit. He stopped right in front of the door and threw his arms out. Your father positively beamed in response.

“Justin, my boy!” your father cried as he trundled over to him and embraced Justin like a prodigal son returned home at last. For about half a minute, the only sounds in the room were those of the two men clapping each other on the backs. When they broke apart, your father kept one meaty hand on the back of Justin’s suit. “You’ve been gone for far too long. I was beginning to worry you’d dropped [Name] as a bad job!”

Justin laughed and followed your father to collapse into the seat to his right. “Maybe I considered it once or twice, but come on, Don, you know I’m here for you.”

“That makes this old man’s heart soar, Justin, it really does.”

As usual, you disappeared as soon as the real business started. The errant thought off slinking out of the room to take a shower occurred to you, but eventually your father would remember what he needed to speak to you about. You’d be in trouble if you could not be found. You pressed your shoulders against the beige wall and tried to look interested in their discussion. Unfortunately, your mind kept drifting toward the night before and Tony’s face once all the cameras had left.

“Excuse me, [Name]? Earth to [Name]!” Justin’s voice startled you out of your musings, which might have been a boon, if not for the fact that you were then expected to take part in his conversation with your father. “Don here wants to know why we got home so late. Do you want to explain it, or should I?”

“I–” you began.

“There’s no reason to explain.” Your father’s tone turned gruff as you became the subject of inquiry again. “I only wanted to see if either of you had any idea what sort of damage was done last night.”

“Damage?” Justin asked, but by then the television was already playing back your discovery at the Stark Expo. His expression of mirth faded slowly the longer the questioning went on; his eyebrows knit together immediately at Tony’s appearance.

“As you said, that fight was years ago,” said the you on the screen. “We were young. I don’t even remember what we fought about.”

The video went on for a few more seconds to show the images of media outlets packing up their things and heading toward the Stark Expo center. Just as the woman that had stopped you turned toward the camera to add something to the story, your father pressed a button on the remote and she froze, raspberry-pink lips half-open.

“What in the devil’s name were you doing at Stark Expo?” your father demanded. His face turned so red that it reminded you of red velvet cake–or maybe it was just that you hadn’t eaten since the day before making you think so much about food. You attempted to coolly sweep some hair behind your shoulder before you answered:

“Justin wanted to check things out.”

“I never said I wanted you to check out Anthony!” Justin protested. You glanced at him and saw the smirk. His next words were intended to incite your father, not induce pity. Justin was too secure in his station being above Tony's to believe himself in much danger. “Is that why you were all shaken up when we left? Because you were making out with him and I almost saw?”

“I would never!” you said, before your father could take Justin’s words to heart.

“It doesn’t matter if you went and fucked Stark ten ways ‘til Sunday!” your father quite nearly bellowed. “You said you don’t remember what you fought about. He’s as good as forgiven as far as everyone else is concerned. Breaking off any connection with Stark is the only useful thing you’ve managed to do, [Name], and now you’ve even ruined that!”

“What would you have wanted me to do, Daddy? They cornered me.”

“I want you to think! I’ve poured enough money into educating you. You ought to be capable of it!”

You fell silent and pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling. You had known that paying a visit to the expo would mean trouble for you. There was no use in making yourself feel worse for being right. Just as you decided this, Justin came to your rescue. He leaned conspiratorially toward your father, who was grinding the end of his cigar into his ashtray.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on [Name], Don,” Justin crooned. “I know she wouldn’t sleep with Anthony. She wouldn’t even look at him like that. After all, she wouldn’t want to ruin what we’ve got going on here, you and me, and her and you, and me and her.”

He looked up at you as if to validate his words. You nodded quickly, only to see Justin stand up and cross his hands over his chest.

“But…” You concentrated very hard to force yourself not to flinch. “That begs the question why you were so freaked out when we left last night.”

Your father looked between you and Justin. “Freaked out?”

“Oh, yeah.” Justin nodded. “I come out after a long night of taking notes on new ideas and she’s just sitting outside. No notes. Leaves in her hair–”

“Leaves?”

“–Looked as if you were frightened, [Name].”

“Frightened?” Your father began to swell like a balloon. Desperate to make yourself look smaller, you moved backward, only to have your shoulder blades hit the wall again. Your father got to his feet and towered over you, puffing smoke and anger all in one. “[L Names]. Are not. Afraid. Of anything! Least of all anyone with the last name Stark!”

“I–I wasn’t afraid!”

“Don’t stammer! It’s a wonder the media outlets don’t make fun of you. Never learned to speak properly.”

You gulped, and somehow the motion gave you enough strength to stand up straight. “I was not afraid. I simply hurt myself on the expo grounds, and it was late. I reacted poorly.”

“You got hurt?” Suddenly Justin was at your side. Seeing his sympathy as your one chance to get away, you nodded and lifted your elbows.

“Nothing big. Just a few scrapes.”

Justin’s eyes practically bugged out; only the lenses of his glasses seemed to prevent that from happening. “Just a few scrapes?” he asked as he took your arm to look more closely. “You might scar!”

The horror of that possibility froze the lecture in its tracks. With his grip still tight around your arm, Justin looked at your father.

“I think, given the circumstances, we ought to let [Name] go. She should put something on these cuts; maybe take a rest so she doesn’t react so poorly next time. Then you and I can talk business. No need to overstimulate her, right, honey?”

His eyes barely met yours as you said, “Right.”

Your father’s gaze wavered between the two of you. Then he rolled his eyes and threw his hands heavenward as he went back to his chair. “Do whatever you want. Can’t get anything done around here.”

Justin tugged on your arm and you tripped after him toward the door. Your father looked up momentarily from his paperwork to speak to Justin:

“You make sure to come right back. We have a lot to discuss.”

“I wouldn’t dream of delaying our meeting, Don.”

With a nod of his head, your father dismissed you. Just before you exited, however, your father threw a few more choice words after you:

“And if you ever see Stark again, you can tell him to cram his expo where the sun doesn’t shine. Lord knows he's a big enough asshole to fit the entire complex up there. Like I’d even want an application to show something at a show run by Anthony Stark.”


	3. Magnetic Repulsion

“[Name]. [Naaaaaaaame].”

A singsong voice carrying a careless tune drifted its way into your ears and across the confused images darting across your dreams. The words ghosted past newspaper headlines and your parents’ faces and the remains of engines leaking pastel oil. They didn’t make much of a dent. Your brain quivered at their touch, then rolled over and asked for two more hours. You felt your fingers contract, heard the faint, distant click of a mouse button, and then allowed yourself to drop back into sleep.

“[Name]!”

A loud finger snapping just beside had you jolting awake and looking wildly about the confines of your garage. You didn’t even register who was there to retrieve you; you thought only of the nearby computer screen and what it might show them. Your heart sank from your throat back into your chest when you saw that the system had put itself into hibernation. Even a jiggle of the mouse wouldn’t be enough to wake it up. Slowly, you settled your chin back onto your hands.

Someone cleared their throat.

With a tiny shriek, you jumped back into a sitting position. You could almost feel your pulse drumming in the back of your eyes. How long had your nap been? Forty-five minutes? Thirty? You couldn’t remember falling asleep; all you knew was that you wanted to get back to it. Your wandering eyes drifted toward the side of the room the voice had come from. Standing only a few feet or so away, with one thumb hooked into a pocket and his head cocked to the right, was Justin.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he said quietly upon meeting your eyes. He bent slightly, took his hand from his pocket, and ruffled your hair. “Feeling any better?”

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth. Hopefully you had not been snoring. Then again, if you had, you could trust Justin to make a remark about it. You stretched, attempting to get a crick out for your neck. It didn’t work, but you couldn’t remain quiet much longer. You feigned a smile before you answered. 

“A little. What are you doing here?” Your rasp of a whisper could hardly be heard above the classical music you’d put on before falling asleep. 

“Oh, just came to check up on you. Thought I’d bring you some tea.” Your eyes fell upon Justin’s other hand, which held a large mug with steam billowing from the top of it. You reached eagerly for the cup. He laughed as he handed it over. Saying "thank you" before you gulped down several mouthfuls of the scalding beverage inside didn't occur to you. He laughed again. “That’s my girl. What would you do without me?”

“Be very thirsty,” you gasped, setting the cup down onto a stack of empty blueprint papers. “And without caffeine.”

He settled himself down on the edge of your desk to regard you over the lenses of his glasses. Exhausted, you yawned, waiting for him to speak again. It had been four days since you’d returned to Malibu, but between the company dinners and your father trying to drum business information into your skull and Justin wanting alone time and your mother dragging you to beauticians and formal dress stores, you hadn’t had more than a few hours rest each night–or day. It was only by expressing an interest in working on a project in the garage that you’d been allowed some time yourself.

No one else bothered much with the garage anymore. [L Name] Industries hired out most of their designers those days. Your father might have been a technical genius in the beginning, but something in him had died along with Howard Stark. To be honest, you weren’t much into mechanics yourself, but at least the space was yours. Every so often, your father would threaten to take away your tools since you never appeared to produce anything with them, but thus far he hadn’t made good on that promise. Perhaps he was still waiting for his own Tony Stark to burst from the ashes of your disappointing prospects.

You caught the look on Justin’s face: raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for some interest to be expressed in his appearance in a room he hardly entered. You picked up your cup and took another drink before giving him what he wanted:

“Finished with Dad already?” 

“For today. He’s got a big golf game with some corporate sponsors and I wasn’t invited along. But I have good news! Stocks are up!”

“That’s…” For a moment, you lost the thread of conversation in remembering why that would be news. Both Justin and your father had been convinced the past few days that your slip-up at Stark Expo would ruin whatever buoyancy in the market they’d earned with Justin’s release from prison. “Fantastic!” you finally managed to finish.

“Yeah, it is. The experts seem to think there’s a possibility of an alliance between your company and Anthony’s.”

The expectant silence that followed those words settled uncomfortably into your chest and stomach. “Oh,” you said a little too loudly. Then: “That’s not going to happen.”

That seemed to please Justin, but he still swiped his fingers across his hair and settled more comfortably into his “seat” to pursue the conversation. “And why is that?”

“Because Tony hates me,” you said as you turned back to your dark computer screen. “And he hates you, too.”

“Always has, always will,” said Justin solemnly. The music coming from your speakers reached a crescendo, and you felt the warmth from his palm as he set his hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s his loss since he decided to ditch us. I’m the one that got lucky enough to keep you around.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t continue. Your tea was cold, and you wanted to go back to sleep, though the caffeine from your tea had a low buzz of electricity humming under your skin. Justin, it seemed, had other plans for your afternoon. He slid toward you down the desk surface until his pants nearly touched your fingers.

“What have you been working on? You’ve been holed up in here for hours. I’m getting lonely.”

You froze. The mixture of caffeine and exhaustion made it difficult to formulate any sort of reasoning behind retreating to your cave that would work well with the fact that you had nothing to show for your time there. If only you had thought to smear oil across your forehead before you settled in. It was something you'd learned to do in high school, but your parents paid so little attention to you nowadays that you'd forgotten your need for camouflage. 

“Um…new tracking pistons for a missile defense system,” you said without thinking. That made absolutely no sense. You winced, waiting for Justin to call you out on your obvious lie. A few seconds of hush followed your words. It didn’t take long for you to grow too nervous to be patient. Your teeth bit softly into your lower lip as you glanced at him. His nose was wrinkled, and a flare of fear ran up your arms.

“Defense?” Your muscles unwound. Thank goodness Justin knew no more about building weapons then he had as a child. The fact that you couldn’t use pistons to track anything didn’t even occur to him. “You can’t build a weapons manufacturing company on defense. You have to play offense, all the way–unless you’re Stark Industries. Are you sure you’re not interested in teaming up with Anthony?”

“I’m positive. The system was just a thought. Maybe encroach on his monopoly.”

“Well, can I see? Maybe we can work something out. You might have something we can use to our advantage in the design.”

“No!”

You spoke too quickly. Justin shot you a look of confusion, boarding just at the edge of suspicion. Your fingers folded over your mouse again. Although you were fairly sure you’d encrypted your system well enough to fool him, you weren’t ready to test that theory.

“I just mean not right now. I barely got anything done. There’s still room for tweaking. I’ll let you know when I get the 3D renders ready.”

“Are you sure you want to wait that long?” Justin looked from your hand to your face, as though wondering whether or not to commandeer the mouse. “After all, if you don’t get advice now, you’ll have to scrap the entire thing once you get the renders done.”

“I’m sure.” You slid your hands back into your lap and sighed as you looked up at him. “I’m so tired. I’ll probably need to do a lot of scrapping at this point anyway. Please, Justin. Don’t make me make a fool of myself in front of you.”

Slowly, he nodded. You saw every pop of the gum in his mouth as he did. “As long as you promise to show me when you’ve got something workable.” He ruffled your hair again; you ducked out of his grip with a tired smile. “We’re a team, you and me.”

"Right.”

A hollow ringing sound echoed through the room as Justin hit his heels several times against the cabinets below him. His fingers locked together; his chin ducked down. “You going to spend the rest of the day fixing things?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You sure? ’Cause this is the first break I’ve had since we got here. I thought maybe we could hit up LA. I’ve got a few friends there and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you tagging along with us to dinner.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. But I don’t think I feel well enough. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“But you can’t stay stuck in here until morning,” Justin protested. “That’s not healthy.”

“Maybe I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head.”

“I’d really prefer you come with me. I’m going to look stupid without a date.”

“You’ll look more stupid with me as a date. Trust me, Justin. I’m not in social condition. I haven’t showered since last night. You’d have to wait for me to get dressed and that might be hours.”

Maybe it was your lack of hygiene that did the trick, but you excuse finally got him to his feet and toward the door. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure. I don’t want you getting sicker. That wouldn’t look good. Hey, speaking of, how are your elbows?”

You lifted them up. “All better.” 

Justin got closer again; the pad of his thumb brushed whisper-soft against the skin there. “Perfect,” he murmured. A moment later, you felt his lips press once against each of your elbows. Then he straightened. “Now, if you go for a walk, you stay safe and in one piece, all right? No more scrapes, no more crying after interviews.”

“Promise.” Your elbows hit your thighs as Justin began to back out of the room.

“I’ll be home tonight, so no wild parties.” He laughed once more. “And tell your mom I’m sorry for missing dinner because whatever I have out there with my buddies can’t compare to her cooking.”

Your mother didn’t cook. She never had. Justin knew that, but you knew better than to contradict him. “Will do.”

“That’s my girl,” he said for a second time. Before he took a step onto the stairs leading up toward the rest of the house, he blew you a kiss. You blew one back. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Soon after, the sounds of Justin’s footsteps faded up into the hallway above your head. Once you were reasonably certain that he wasn’t going to return, you got to your feet and traipsed over to the stairs to lock the soundproof door behind him. Your mother was probably out and about–she had said something about spending girl time with _real_ girls the day before–but if your boyfriend ran into her on his way out and told her you’d elected to stay in for the afternoon, she’d probably be making a visit to chastise you. Not that she couldn’t get someone to unlock the door, but she’d probably consider that too much effort.

“Music off,” you said into the eerie stillness that followed. Immediately the room fell quiet. You looked around and pulled the hood of your jacket over your head. Out of the shadows in the corners loomed half-finished projects you’d lost interest in back in your teenage years. You ignored them as you shuffled back to your computer. Your finger had just barely touched the power button when it occurred to you: 

Everyone was gone.

Your mother had plans, your father had plans, even your boyfriend had plans. Sure, the house staff would still be around preparing for dinner and cleaning up after everyone, but they had strict orders not to enter the garage. You could _easily_ slip out without their notice. Why stay perfecting what you already had when you could escape to gather more material?

With rush of excitement that shoved away any former plans of digging out your hidden pillows and blankets for an uninterrupted nap, you rushed over to one of the old cars your father kept down there. Your fingers wrenched a side view mirror up toward your face; you yanked the hoodie back down with more force than necessary.

If your mother had seen you, she would have passed out from horror. After your impromptu nap, your hair was a wild mess, your eyes were red, and your cheeks were more blotchy than blushed. Your clothes were all wrong, too: the musty, oil-stained jeans you wore when working and a worn, fading hoodie on top of a white wife beater. Slowly, your lips parted in a smile that showed your teeth dimly in the dark garage lighting. No one would recognize you at a distance. Throw on a pair of sunglasses you hadn’t bought in the past year and they wouldn’t recognize you close up either unless they were looking for you. For once, you agreed wholeheartedly with Justin.

“Perfect.”

Without further ado, you dove for one of the file cabinets in the back of the room. Your fingers trembled as you combed through an open drawer until you found a map of the city. It didn’t take long for you to find where you had last left off. Then you snatched your purse, stuffed the paper inside, and made quickly for the backdoor.

Los Angles was an hour’s drive away. Even if Justin flew, even if he said he’d be home that evening, he’d probably stumble into your bedroom at three o’ clock that morning.

For the first time since the end of his trial, you had time. You weren’t about to waste it.

******

Nothing could have been more different from the rain and skyscrapers of New York than Malibu. The ocean sent waves of warm humidity into the city, along with the cries of gulls even as far as the shopping district. The low buildings were still too high for Tony to spot the birds, but he could hear them as he opened a passenger side door to haphazardly shove groceries into the darkness of his car. Behind him, several children shrieked. Heonly threw them half a smile before he climbed inside himself.

With Pepper remaining on as CEO of Stark Industries, he was down a personal assistant–and a driver except in special circumstances. Doing his own errands had been novel the first few times, but then it started to get difficult, what with his easily recognizable face and tendency to drive ostentatious vehicles. There was always the option of hiring a _new_ assistant, one that wasn't as beautiful and brilliant as his first, but they wouldn’t be as good as Pepper. Besides that, Tony wasn’t _quite_ ready to replace her. Obviously she wouldn’t be returning to the position, but it seemed a sad testament to their continued friendship for him to find someone else so quickly. For the time being, he would have to suffer through purchasing things himself.

The inside of the car seemed too quiet without Happy to pester or JARVIS to plan with. The twenty minute drive home seemed to loom before Tony, too long and too empty to contemplate. When he got there, the only person that would be excited to see him was JARVIS, and he was _programmed_ to be excited to see him. Tony was getting tired of lingering about the house on his own, with nothing to occupy his mind outside of designing new Marks for the Iron Man armor. Instead, he drove slowly through the narrow streets, eyeing shop fronts with growing distaste and agitation. At least the Expo wrap up had given him something to _do_.

After fifteen minutes of aimless driving, Tony pulled his car into a parking space and stepped outside. He arrived near a quaint-looking Starbucks with a patio full of people and the smell of coffee wafting out the door. Maybe all he needed was a kick to get him back to work. A few people raised their cups as he passed, but for the most part he was able to duck inside without impediment. After all, it wasn’t as exciting seeing Tony Stark at places he _frequented_ , and even less so when it was just him without his armor.

He handed the clerk a fifty without ordering and allowed his eyes to wander around the store. Some hipster song drifted lazily through the overhead speakers. For a minute, Tony occupied himself with flipping through the CDs next to the register, but nothing sounded good enough for him to add to his personal collection.

“That will be right out, sir.”

Tony nodded, stuffed his change into the tip jar, and wandered with his hands in his pockets over to the pickup counter. People watching to distract himself was out, too; the weather was so nice that only a few people pecking at laptop keyboards remained inside the air conditioned building.

The bathroom door past the counter opened, and Tony’s eyes found the woman stepping toward him immediately, as she was the only thing inside the coffee shop moving, except for the employees bustling around the drive-thru window. He frowned at her approach. She was slightly younger than him, and might have been pretty if she had been wearing clothes that hadn’t clearly been used at some point for mechanic work.

His eyes narrowed at that thought. Mechanic work? Some of the stains on her patched jeans looked fresh, but when he looked at her fingers, they were clean to the point of having an expensive-looking manicure. With a small shock, he realized he _knew_ the woman. She was _you_. Tony’s mouth popped open, but before he could offer any sort of greeting, the clerk behind the counter held up a drink.

“[Fake F Name] [Fake L Name]?”

“Thanks.”

Your fingers wrapped around the cup. Then you brushed by Tony without a word. _[Fake F Name]_? Maybe Tony had been wrong. But just before you passed him entirely, he noted the shape of your face and the hoodie he’d tossed at you right before he left for MIT just barely clinging to your shoulders.

“ _[Name]_?” You didn’t react. He took a step toward you when you openneed the coffee kick at that point. The door flung open beneath his grip and then Tony was rushing out of the Starbucks, completely ignorant of the confused and occasionally frightened stares his actions elicited as he rushed through the outdoor seating area.

“[Name]!”

Your back remained toward him; you kept moving down the hot sidewalk, away from the cars and toward another intersection. Tony continued running after you. Since you were walking, it didn’t take too long for him to catch up. His hand grasped momentarily at your shoulder, but lifted as soon as you stopped. What if you decided to call for help? It probably wasn’t a good idea to go after you like that. It was probably an even _worse_ idea to attempt to restrain you.

“[Name],” he said again, hoping that you wouldn’t take off for a second time.

You didn’t. You turned quickly on the spot. “Oh my god,” you said. “ _You’re_ the genius, and yet you can’t tell when someone is trying to avoid you?”

Flummoxed, Tony hesitated. Of course, now that he had chased several blocks after you, he couldn’t figure out why he had bothered to to begin with. Your tone certainly didn’t help matters. Only one thing seemed to register in his mind:

“You were trying to avoid me?”

In silence, you crossed your arms over your chest. From that close, Tony could see through the shade of your sunglasses and behind them your eyes looked even more baggy and tired than they had several nights before. Unlike him, you probably needed that coffee, and there he was keeping you from…wherever you were going. But that wasn’t the point at that particular moment.

“How would I catch that?” he demanded. “No one has ever tried to avoid me before.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I guess. What do you want, Tony?”

“Nothing! I just…saw you and…wanted to talk.”

Clearly, you didn’t believe that, though you allowed one arm to drop to your side. Your head tilted slightly to the left, but Tony couldn’t read your expression at all. His frown deepened. You’d been easy to read back when he had first known you. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to look up that fight alluded to during the interview. Maybe that was why you didn’t seem very keen to stick around.

Your eyebrows flicked upward. “Talk about what, then?”

“I…Uh…” It was not every day that Tony found himself incapable of completing his sentences. The atmosphere around you seemed distractingly cold. The thought of extracting himself from the situation, of going back to the coffee shop, of driving home and never speaking of the conversation to anyone occurred to him, but he pushed it away just as quickly as it had cropped up. He wasn’t a coward, and he was probably just projecting “stuck alone in a mansion with no one to talk to but the AI” feelings into the whole affair.

“Life, I guess?" He shrugged. "I said I’d try to get in contact with you once I got back to Malibu and…here you are.”

“Here I am.” You twisted your shoulders back and forth gently and the air around you got tenser still. 

Tony felt himself wince before taking another brave stab at conversation. “So, what are you doing all the way out here on your own? Is your driver waiting for you again?”

You stopped moving and your chin lifted very slightly. It seemed to take minutes before you offered an extremely hesitant, “No. I walked out here.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought your father would let you do that sort of thing, especially just for a cup of Starbucks you could probably order online.”

“What my father does and does not allow me to do is none of your business, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re right.” The words were out of Tony’s mouth before he fully thought them. They even seemed to catch you off guard, since your mouth opened a little in reply. Then your expression grew more suspicious.

“What do you mean, I’m right?”

“I mean…you’re right. It’s none of my business. But if you’re already breaking the rules and on a renegade coffee run, why don’t you stick around for a little bit? We can chat and you can tell me what you are and are not allowed to do so I don’t say something stupid again.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

That day seemed to be full of firsts for Tony: his first encounter with someone trying to avoid him and his first real rejection. His thoughts almost ground to a halt in his attempt work that out, never mind trying to think of a counter argument. All he could come up with in the end was:

“We were friends once, weren’t we?”

“Once.” Tony spread his fingers to indicate that that should have been reason enough. But nothing about your expression softened. In fact, you took a half-step away from him. A few cars whooshed by, and the stoplight down the street flicked to another color. Apparently after that long a wait, you felt it prudent to explain yourself. “Even if we were still friends, that wouldn’t work. In case you haven’t noticed, since the fake name and ignoring you don’t seem to be much of a clue, I don’t want to be recognized right now. You being you…well, even if _I’m_ not recognized right away, someone will get pictures and show them off and someone else will recognize me later. I’m already in enough trouble for talking to you at your expo. I’m not–I can’t–I won’t–”

“Okay, okay,” said Tony quickly. Even before you started stammering, he could tell he had said absolutely the wrong thing. It was difficult to know for sure, what with the sunglasses obstructing his view, but he thought you might have been close to tears. “No coffee date. I’m sorry.”

Whereas moments before, you had been near-terrified, at Tony’s apology you stiffened, sniffed, and cocked your head again. When you spoke, your voice was level, and might have even contained a note of concern:

“Look. Tony. Are you drunk? Are you high? Do you need help getting home? Because I can call someone to pick you up, but I can’t do anything more for you.”

That time, _Tony_ widened the gap. He pointed with his thumb back toward the Starbucks three blocks away. “No, I–I’m fine. Sorry to have bothered you. I should get back to my drink before they give it to someone else. It was kind rude for me to leave it there, so…”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am absolutely fantastic,” Tony said as he rubbed the back of his head. He saw a flash of your teeth against your lower lip, but then your fingers tightened around your cup and you began to move away again.

“If you say so. You always knew what was best.”

“That is…categorically untrue, but thanks.”

That time, there was something different about his tone. A minute seemed to fill the gap of a second, then you snorted, and then you laughed. A slow smile spread across Tony’s face, though he took another few steps back the way he had come.

“See you around, [Name]?”

You shook your head, but the smile leftover from your bout of laughter remained. “Probably not. Bye, Tony.”

“Bye.”

Your lips flipped quickly through a variety of expressions before you turned back around and continued walking in the opposite direction. Tony shuffled backward, his eyes glued to you until your figure disappeared around the next street corner. The feeling of being alone settled once again onto his shoulders. Sighing, he resumed his forward movement toward the coffee shop. Yinsen’s words came drifting toward him again, along with the casual conversations filling up the quickly darkening streets: _“So you are a man that has everything, yet nothing.”_

For the first time since returning from the Middle East, Tony felt those words were completely, utterly true. Unfortunately, the only “something” he could gain was walking away from him, making it utterly clear that she wanted him to do nothing more than leave her alone.


	4. Theoretically True

“Tony, what on _earth_ is going on in here?”

If Pepper hadn’t spoken, Tony wouldn’t have had the faintest idea that she was inside his house. From his vantage point on the couch, surrounded by several dusty boxes pulled from an ignored corner of the garage _and_ all the papers found inside them, he had to blink away the sudden onset of the present day before he saw her walking toward him. The clack of her heels against the floor stopped as she got a good look at the scene. After a moment of staring around while he only stared back, she quickened her pace and asked again:

“What are you _doing_?”

To be honest, Tony didn’t really know himself. The photographs below him seemed to blur through his memory; he lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes before responding. “Oh, you decided to come visit?”

Pepper pursed her lips together at that, paused, moved the stack of certificates next to Tony, and sat down. Instead of answering his childish question, she just picked up one of the faded photographs. He rested one cheek on his hand as he watched her look at it. Who knew? Maybe _she_ could offer some insight into the situation.

After several long minutes, maybe five, Pepper put the picture back down on the coffee table. “Doing some research on your new girlfriend?”

“No,” Tony said as he picked up the picture himself. “Not unless you’re suggesting I would date a twelve-year-old.”

“Well…”

“Thanks, Pepper.” 

But she was no longer paying attention to him. Her slim fingers pushed the papers in front of her around, shifting them, unearthing more and more similar photographs. Her frown deepened as she picked a particularly worn-looking one from a pile. “Are these all the same girl?” she asked. “I don’t recognize her at all.”

Tony snorted and plucked the photo from Pepper’s hand. “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t. She was long gone before you showed up. Besides that, I’m pretty sure I hated her.”

“You knew this girl?”

“Yes,” Tony said, that time more forcefully. Did everyone think he just went around snooping on people all the time? Before Pepper could express disbelief, he flipped the photo back around and tapped the left hand corner. “That’s me.”

“Oh! You’re so young here. I thought you didn’t like revisiting your past.”

“Yeah, well, my past decided to revisit me.” He threw the picture back onto the table with a sigh. The two figures remained quite plain despite the age-related fading on edges. Tony, as usual, looked haughty, angry even. The girl beside him was clearly worse for wear. You looked frightened, though it was difficult to tell for sure through the several layers of grime covering your face. Behind both children sat two engines–and only Tony’s was complete.

Realization dawned on Pepper’s face; a quiet gasp slipped from her lips. “Is this [F Name] [L Name]?”

Tony sat up and shot her a sharp look. “How do you know about her?”

“It’s been all over the news since your Expo. Well, not _all_ over. But the economic reports have been very interested. Since they’ve been speculating that Stark Industries is going to join forces with [L Name] Industries, I’ve had to pay attention.”

“Well?”

"Well, what?”

“Is Stark Industries going to start a joint venture with [L Name] Industries?”

“Probably not. [L Name] Industries really hasn’t produced anything worthwhile in about twenty years. Besides, they already seem to be doing business with Hammer Tech.”

“ _Hammer Tech_?” Tony echoed. “Why didn’t that company burn to the ground after Justin destroyed my expo?”

“I think there was some discussion about that. If I remember correctly, [L Name] Industries made sure it kept afloat. But Justin stayed on as CEO of his company, so maybe I'm wrong about that.”

“He stayed on as CEO? He’s going to manage Hammer Tech _from jail_?”

Pepper’s eyes flicked back to Tony’s face. The incredulity in them was easy to read. “Tony, Justin was released. He was declared innocent of all charges.”

“What? When did _that_ happen?”

“The same night as your Expo finale.” When Tony did nothing but continue to stare blankly at Pepper, she rolled her eyes and began to gather up the things strewn around the couch. “Honestly, Tony, maybe if you paid more attention to the news instead of stalking this woman, you’d already have known that.”

“I am _not_ stalking [Name].” 

Pepper raised her eyebrows, and waited patiently for his excuse. Underneath her gaze, Tony felt uncomfortable–he _wasn’t_ stalking you, but going through all of his old junk probably wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up, considering your attitude at your last meeting. 

“Look," he began awkwardly, "I just ran into her a few days ago, and everyone keeps referencing the fight we had, and she clearly didn’t want to talk to me, so I thought I’d just…figure out what was going on.”

Her expression shifted, but Tony couldn’t tell what exactly it shifted _to_. Pepper gazed at him for about a minute, her fingers beating a quiet rhythm into her knees. “So all of this…”

“Is just some research.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Not really. In case you haven’t noticed, people aren’t exactly beating down my door to spend time with me these days.”

“What about Stark Tower?” she asked.

Tony groaned and allowed his head to loll back against the couch. 

“If you want Stark Industries to go entirely green, that’s a major way that you could help. That’s a much better use of your time than harassing a poor woman that wants nothing to do with you.”

“But it’s not _me_ she wants nothing to do with,” Tony protested. Upon seeing Pepper frown at him, he hastily added, “Well, it is. But it’s that boy she knew before I changed. Of course I would have told her to leave me alone back then, but…”

“Tony, if she doesn’t want to know the real you, you shouldn’t force her to. All of this,” she gestured at the room around her, “is just a waste of time. I need you on the Stark Tower project.”

He looked away, over toward the waterfall by the stairs that led down to his garage. Pepper had been the _one_ person Tony thought would understand. All of that digging wasn’t because he wanted to hurt you again. It was just that he wanted to show you that he was sorry. Unfortunately, he couldn’t show you how remorseful he was until he properly knew what to be remorseful about. Far from helping him, she had only thrown him deeper into doubt.

Tony clapped his hands, then stood from his couch. “You’re probably right. I’ll pack all of this up and put it back with the rest of the relics.”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

“No. You’re CEO now, Pepper, not my personal assistant. Quit babying me.”

“I only baby you when you clearly need babied.”

“I think I’m capable of putting up a few boxes.” When she only lifted her eyebrows again, Tony slumped with a sigh. “Or just shoving them back into a corner in the garage and making DUM-E sweep up the mess. Whatever works.”

“Speaking of work,” Pepper began in her normal, business-like tone. Tony couldn’t help it; he groaned a second time. She only glared at him until he would let her speak. “What’s this I heard about a party you’re throwing?”

“What does that have to do with work?” he asked.

“It has to do with work because I’m still new to this CEO thing, and everyone in the country is still waiting to latch onto any excuse to say I’m doing a bad job.”

“Pepper,” said Tony as he covered his eyes with one hand. “What does that have to do with _me_?”

“It has to do with you because, like it or not, everyone still sees you as the face of Stark Industries. Why do you need to throw another party, anyway? The house only just got fixed after the last disaster.”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re bored,” Pepper repeated. For a moment, she looked annoyed. The next, her expression had rearranged into one of concern. Her hand found Tony’s and she placed her palm over it. “Tony, is there something you’re not telling me? Did that element you found not work? Are you dying again?”

“No.” He tore his hand out from underneath hers to brush several fingers through his hair.

“Are we going to have a problem again?” she asked. “Do I need to call Rhodey?”

“What if I just invite him along?” Tony offered. Pepper didn’t speak, but the answer was clear on her face. “No? Oh, come on, Pepper. I’m going crazy in here.”

“Exactly. Just like you went crazy when the Expo first started. I can’t handle another mess like that, Tony. If I’d known this was how you were going to react when we broke up–”

“ _What_?” Apparently the vehemence of his question startled Pepper. She looked almost as though she believed his protest. Just to make sure, though, Tony rolled his eyes and sat up. “Oh, right. Yeah, I’m just _so_ cut up about us deciding to remain friends that I’ve entered another downward spiral. Do you see any alcohol around here?”

“Well…no.”

“Because I’m _fine_ , Pepper. This isn’t going to be like the last time. No appearance from Iron Man. Just people and music and probably some pizza. I promise.”

“I’ve heard _that_ before.”

“Pepper…”

“Tony, please. Just–please. I am begging you. Be on your best behavior until I win everyone over. Forget the party. Draw up some blueprints for Stark Tower so I can open up Monday’s board meeting with them. I need something from you to show I’m still willing to work with you. Forget the party.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Tony.”

He wanted to argue more, but Tony couldn’t really figure out how. Probably Pepper was right. Forget that _he_ was the one that appointed her CEO; everyone seemed to think she’d seduced the position out of him, especially after their break up. After a long moment of staring at his hands, he heaved a defeated sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fine,” Tony said again. He did not look at Pepper as he got to his feet. “I’ll call all those people, tell them it’s off. No party.”

“You mean it?” Pepper stood up herself.

A glance in her direction showed Tony she was almost smiling. He dropped his hands to his sides and forced a smile back at her. “Yeah. Sorry I haven’t been considerate of what you’re going through. And…I’ll finish up the Stark Tower stuff ASAP.”

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

“Hm.” Her lips pursed together again, but Pepper didn’t pursue the subject. She simply walked back toward the front door. Tony followed and held it open. She paused on the doorstep to offer one last piece of advice: “If you’re that lonely, why not invite Rhodey over anyway? I’m sure you two could find something to do and if you’ve got most of the blueprints done...”

“Excellent idea. You and Happy have fun tonight.”

“We will.”

For some reason, Pepper gave Tony a long, hard look. He gazed back calmly. After all, he had no idea what she was looking for–maybe more marks on his neck? If only his problem that time around was as simple as dying. But whatever it was, she must not have found it, because she smiled at him one last time before she stepped smartly out of the house. 

He closed the door after her with a long hiss of breath. His footsteps echoed in the empty house. With the sun setting over the ocean, the silhouettes of the living room furniture and all of Tony’s boxes stood black against the windows. With another sigh, he leaned against the wall to look at them.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, JARVIS?” Tony asked heavily. He began to trundle toward the mess.

“About Miss Potts’ suggestion,” JARVIS answered. “Would you like me to call Colonel Rhodes?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“What about the party guests? Shall I let them know the event has been cancelled?”

“No, I should probably do that myself. I don’t want them yelling at you. Besides, they probably won’t believe you if you tell them.”

“Quite a good point, sir.” Tony didn’t respond; he was too busy looking at the photo from before. A second later, he picked it up, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his back pocket. “You might want to do that before cleaning up, sir.”

“Right, right.” His hands waved vaguely into the air, as though he could beat JARVIS away from him. Not that that would be a good idea; JARVIS was the only person that seemed to want Tony around those days. With a sound like a grumble combined with a sigh, Tony made his way into the kitchen, found his phone, and began to flick through the contacts. He pressed the first that looked familiar.

As the ring tone on the other end continued, Tony absentmindedly fished back into his pocket and drew out the picture. He unfolded it, then tossed it onto the counter without looking; at least it was away from the rest of the pictures so he would remember not to put it up with them. Just as Tony decided most definitely not to look any closer, the faces caught his eye again: Judging by the look on his own face, Tony’s father was the one taking the picture. Judging by yours, your father was probably somewhere nearby. Probably another contest, then–though you weren’t dressed for one.

“Hello?”

Tony blinked hard. The other person he was calling had answered. “Uh, hey,” Tony said after an awkward beat of silence. “Hey, it’s Tony.”

“Tony! Hey!” the other man said. “Me and Gil were just about to head to your place. We’re super excited about tonight and–”

His attention elsewhere, Tony only nodded vaguely in response. They couldn’t see that, of course, but he hardly cared. If the photograph wasn’t evidence of a long-done competition, then what was it of? You looked far too nervous for it to be any sort of casual tinkering in the garage.

And then it hit him: You were nervous because you weren’t supposed to be there. Tony remembered suddenly. When he was a kid, when things got rough between him and his dad, he’d demand that you come over. For some reason, you always did, even though he did nothing but show off and egg you on. That picture must have been taken on one of the nights you’d been discovered.

_“Look, Don!”_ Tony’s father had cried. _“They’re sweet on each other. Maybe we’ll get to be in-laws someday, eh?”_

“Not likely, Dad,” Tony muttered.

“Tony? What?”

“Oh!” Tony was startled back into the conversation. Jeez, had he said that aloud? If anyone found out he was talking to his long-dead father, there would be even more accusations of his being not exactly sane for Pepper to field. He shook his head quickly as he pressed the phone harder into his ear. “Yeah, look, about the party? It’s off.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m, uh.” He wheezed out a very fake cough. “Not feeling well enough this evening.”

“Oh, man, bro. That sucks.”

“Yeah. We’ll have to take a rain check. Give my apologies to, uh, Gil. Have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, sure. Feel better, man. Bye.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye himself; Tony just hit the end button. Dead air rang through the house. Not even JARVIS spoke, which made the whole place seem even emptier, kind of like the house did when his dad was busy–as he always used to be. No wonder Tony invited you around. As much as he might have disliked you, at least you actually _talked_ to him.

That decided it, then. Before Tony could change his mind, he called JARVIS.

“Yes, sir?”

“Look up [F Name] [L Name]’s cellphone number for me, would you?”

“Done. I’m sending it to your mobile device now.”

“Thanks.”

Whatever the number was, Tony didn’t bother to look at it. He just hit call and waited, tapping his toes as the ringing went on and on. The numbers on his watch didn’t shift, but it seemed to take a ridiculously long time for you to answer. For one moment, Tony thought he might have accidentally ended up with your home number and someone else might answer. A number of excuses ran through his head, but before he could settle on one, a groggy voice said:

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Tony perked up, then remembered that the last time you’d seen him, you’d said he wouldn’t be seeing you around. Still, he wasn’t exactly _seeing_ you, was he? Jeez, just because you knew him as a kid, he seemed to be thrown off. But Why? You were just like everyone else. No need to feel guilty. “Is this [Name]?”

A very long silence followed the question. Tony shifted, looking about the kitchen, wondering if you had fallen back to sleep. But it was only nearing seven in the evening. Surely you wouldn’t be in bed that early. Just when he thought you might have hung up on him, you spoke again:

“Yeah.” You yawned before continuing, “Who is this?”

“Uh…” Lying would probably get him farther along than the truth, but he wasn’t sure how he would proceed afterward. “Tony,” he answered.

“Tony who?”

“Stark. Obviously.”

A quiet rumble of sleepy laughter floated into Tony’s ear. “That’s a good one. Look, if Justin paid you to test me, you can tell him that I passed. I’m not eagerly awaiting phone sex with you.”

“That would be…something,” Tony said. “We could always try; I’ve been told I’m quite good at it.”

Another pronounced minute or so of quiet followed. Tony thought he heard you hiss a bad word on the other end of the line. Then he heard rustling, maybe sheets being thrown off you. Wow, you definitely believed in that early to bed, early to rise business, didn’t you? The sound of feet padding across carpet came next, and then your voice again:

“What do you want, Tony?”

“You believe me, then? Just like that?”

“How did you get this number?” you demanded quietly.

“I looked it up.”

“Tony, if you don’t quit stalking me–”

“I’m not stalking you. Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Maybe because I keep ‘accidentally’ running into you everywhere, even though I don’t want to?”

“Who wouldn’t want to run into me?”

“I can think of at least ten people, other than myself. But again, what do you want, Tony?”

“Can you come over?” he said quickly.

“ _What_?”

“Can you come over?” That time, Tony pronounced each word clearly.

“ _Why_?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could work on some things. I have to draw up some blueprints and I’d like the company.” That excuse sounded weak even to Tony’s ears–and it was true! Without thinking, he held his breath waiting for your response.

“Seriously?” you asked. “You don’t have anyone else to invite over?”

“Well…yeah, I guess I do.”

“Then you don’t need me.”

The tone of your voice indicated that hanging up was not far from your mind. “Okay, you want the truth?” Tony asked. You didn’t answer, which he assumed meant that he could continue. “My best friend said I couldn’t have a party and I’m bored out of my skull. Please come entertain me.”

“Just like old times, huh?”

Your cold tone did not escape Tony. He released a long breath and rubbed the back of his head. “Not exactly like old times.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m not going to…say anything rude or make you do anything. Well, I’ll probably say something rude. It’s me we’re talking about.” He waited for a laugh that never came and had to clear his throat before he continued, “I just want someone to hang out with. I wasn’t lying earlier. I _do_ need to finish a blueprint and Pepper _did_ forbid me to have a party.”

“Since when do you listen to anyone telling you what to do?”

“Since I went to the Middle East and got held captive by terrorists for three months. That sort of thing causes you to think there _might_ be other people out there that know what they’re talking about…sometimes.” He heard you sigh, but the sound wasn’t angry or cold that time. Perhaps he was wearing you down. “Look, just come by my place. You can do whatever you want while you’re here. I won’t even talk to you if you don’t want me to.”

“I seriously doubt that. You’ve never been good at keeping quiet.” You paused, then added quietly, “Why do you keep doing this, Tony?”

“Doing what? I’m not stalking you.”

“You’re doing a pretty good impression of it. You never gave much of a damn about me. Why start now?”

“Because I’m not the same person you knew, and I want you to know that.”

Well, that was another selfish reason to add to the list. At least he was being honest. Tony’s eyebrows lifted as he waited, again, for you to answer. It took you even longer; he thought he could hear you pacing back and forth while you tried to decide.

“Come on. You were clearly sleeping when I called. It’s not like you have anything better to do tonight.”

You sighed, defeated. “When do you want me there?”

Tony couldn’t help but grin. “When can you get here?”

“I can probably manage to sneak out about now. Everyone else is at dinner. I could probably be there in about twenty minutes.”

“See you soon.”

“Maybe.”

With that, you hung up. Tony, however, wasn’t worried. That conversation was the closest you’d sounded to your old self since the Expo. Besides, if you didn’t show up, at least he had tried.

“JARVIS, you finish cancelling that party yet?” he called.

“Of course, sir. May I say I sincerely appreciated your help with that one gentleman?”

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I’m used to it, sir.”

The relief Tony felt at having won you over at least enough to get you to visit was like a weight rolling off his shoulders. He laughed, and headed back to the living room to straighten things up. Halfway through stuffing one box full of old handwritten notes, however, it occurred to Tony that cramming the boxes back int the garage again to collect dust wouldn’t help him solve anything. It would be better if he set aside some things to scan into the home system. Thus began his going back through what he’d already put up, looking hastily at one thing before throwing it onto the “keep” pile and then moving on. It certainly didn’t feel like twenty minutes before the doorbell rang, and when Tony looked at his watch, it proved him right. It had not been twenty minutes; it had been forty-five.

“You’re late,” he said as he answered the door. You narrowed your eyes momentarily, as though trying to decide if going inside would be worth it. In the end, you must have figured it was, because you stepped past him into the house without even speaking. Tony closed the door behind you and slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched you cross the entrance hall.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” you said after a few minutes had passed; your voice echoed against the walls. At last Tony came to a stop at your side.

“Uh, you do realize–”

“Tony, you hated your father enough that obviously you wouldn't want to live in the same house you grew up in, so, yes, I realize.”

“Then how’d you find this place?”

“You’re kidding, right?” You turned to face Tony’s face with your eyebrows raised. “I could buy a map with this address marked on it. You’re Iron Man.”

“You noticed,” Tony said as he pressed his hand to his heart. 

You rolled your eyes and began to walk deeper into the house. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“No,” you called over your shoulder. “I got something before I came here.”

“Is that why it took you so long?”

“Kind of.” You looked at him again. Tony frowned, lifted his eyebrows, and shrugged, waiting for your explanation. A sigh pressed your shoulders down. “I couldn’t exactly walk here, could I?”

“Wait.” Tony gestured at the door with his thumb and did a double-take. “Your driver is here?”

“No. I had him drop me off at a club. Once I was there, I had to mingle for a bit. Be seen, you know, in the right places. That way, Dad won’t think I'm with you when he sees that I’m gone.”

“You really know what you’re doing with this sneaking out business, don’t you?” Even to his own ears, Tony sounded impressed. 

You cracked a half-smile. “I have to be. But you know how that is. Or I guess you used to.”

Tony scratched his cheek with a single finger while he tried to think of how best to respond to that. While waiting, you resumed walking toward the couch. Like Pepper, you stopped when you saw the piles of paperwork, though you looked a lot more amused than annoyed. As you bent over to examine the stack of “keep” papers, Tony felt his heart drop.

“Don’t–”

“Oh my god,” you said as you picked up a note. You dropped it the very next minute to pick up a photograph. A moment later, you looked up at Tony; he winced. “Is this all about me?”

“Uh…yeah. Probably should’ve cleaned that up before you got here.”

Your brow furrowed. “But you’re not stalking me?”

“No!” His legs quickly carried him over to the table. “I was just…trying to figure out why we’re not friends anymore.”

You watched him for a long while. Tony only shrugged again. “You really don’t remember,” you said in a quiet voice. That time, Tony shook his head. Miraculously, you laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Come on, [Name]. Just give me a hint.”

“Nah,” you said as you dropped the picture back onto the table and made to sit in a nearby chair. “It was so long ago. There’s no point in dredging all that up again.”

“But I want to apologize.”

Another laugh, and then you spoke again. “The great Tony Stark wants to apologize? This is a first.”

“Not exactly. I’ve been trying to be more of an actual ‘hero,’ you know. To go with the whole Iron Man thing. I’ve been told I’m a role model to small children now, and that means I have to make changes unless I want the Concerned Mothers of America Association blowing my house to smithereens.”

“Tony, I _know_.”

“How? Are you doing research on me? Because then I think we might have a problem with hypocrisy here.”

“No,” you sighed and settled back into your chair. “I’d have to live under a rock to not keep up with you, Tony. You’re all over the news, whether I like it or not.”

“And who doesn’t like me on their television?”

“My dad,” you said, but your smile that time seemed genuine. 

Maybe his acting as expected made you feel more at ease, although Tony still wasn’t quite sure what “as expected” meant to you. He sat down on the edge of the couch, interlaced his fingers and rested them on his knees as he leaned toward you. “So you know all about me, but I know nothing about you. What have _you_ been up to?”

“You don’t want to hear about that.”

“But I do.”

“Why don’t you just work on your blueprints and I’ll watch like I used to?”

“ _After_ we catch up.”

“Don’t you normally sleep with your interviewers?”

“Yep.” He grinned at your suddenly unimpressed expression. “But I am interviewing you, so,” Tony paused to wrap his arms around his knees, “spill. What is new with [F Name] [L Name]?”

You heaved another heavy sigh and rolled your eyes once more. The seconds ticked away as you looked up at the ceiling, back toward the door, and anywhere but at Tony. Once about five minutes had passed, you shrugged yourself. “Absolutely nothing.” When Tony snorted, you shot him a glare. “What? Nothing is different! Everything is exactly the same.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“California Institute of Technology.”

“Top of your class?”

“I had to be.”

“And what are you doing with your degree?”

Another long pause followed that question. Then you shrugged a second time. “Nothing.” When one end of Tony’s mouth quirked up (it was frustrating getting no answers), you actually cracked up. “God. It’s so weird you actually showing an interest in my life. I feel so stupid. This really is like old times.”

“Well, it’s not as impressive as MIT…”

“Yeah, Dad is quick to remind me about that. I didn’t go to college at fifteen either.”

“Not everyone can be me, unfortunately.”

“If only.”

Though you were doing a pretty good job at keeping up a wry tone of voice, Tony couldn’t help but feel that much of the buoyancy was leaving the conversation. Before he could ask you what you were doing instead, if not engineering, however, JARVIS interrupted:

“Sir?”

“Holy crap!” You nearly jumped out of your chair; once you regained your balance, you began to look around. “Who was that?”

“That’s JARVIS,” Tony said, and he could feel himself both trying and failing not to chuckle at your reaction. “He’s my butler.”

“But where…?”

“I’m afraid I am not corporeal, Miss [L Name]. I’m merely an artificial intelligence system created by Mr. Stark.”

That seemed to calm you; at least, your muscles loosened and you might have almost smiled at the place from which JARVIS’ voice issued. “It’s nice to meet you, JARVIS.”

“Likewise, Miss [L Name]. Mr. Stark has told me quite a bit about you in the past few days. Well, I say told me, but really he’s been uploading–”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Tony cut in loudly. 

You giggled, but stopped as soon as Tony looked over at you. “Sounds like you’ve come a long way from DUM-E,” you remarked.

“Oh, DUM-E is still around. I have him on janitorial duty in the basement. Now, what did you want to tell me about, JARVIS?”

“That would be me,” Rhodey announced as he walked into the room. He looked suspiciously from you to Tony, and a quick glance in your direction showed Tony that you were shrinking back into your chair, as though trying to disappear into the seam between the back and cushion. “JARVIS said you wanted me to come over. I didn’t realize I would be interrupting date night.”

“You’re not,” Tony said quickly as he got to his feet. The last thing he needed was for you to think he had some ulterior motive in inviting you over. Unfortunately, it was probably too late for that. You had already turned tomato-red at Rhodey’s words. When Rhodey stopped next to Tony, he nodded at you.

“Hey, [Name].”

“Hi, Colonel Rhodes.”

“[Name]. We’ve been over this. It’s Rhodey.” Instead of answering that, you simply gave him a tremulous smile. “It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah.” It appeared to take you a good deal of effort, but you stood up and inched your way back toward the door. “It looks like you’ve got company now, Tony, so I’ll be leaving.”

“Already?” Tony said. “But we didn’t even get to the part where we worked on personal projects.”

“Maybe…some other time,” you said with a highly forced smile. “It’s going to take me awhile to hike back to where my driver is anyway.”

“I’ll drive you there.”

“That would kind of defeat the purpose of me walking here.”

“At least let me get you a little closer.”

“No.” You laughed, though the sound was higher and more nervous than it had been earlier that evening. “I can handle it. You stay here. Goodnight, Tony, Colonel Rhodes.”

Without waiting for either of them to bid you goodnight in return, you slipped out the door and snapped it shut behind you. Tony stared after you for several minutes, as though that could somehow bring you back so that he could explain that it hadn’t been a date and he really did want to know what you were up to, especially if you’d dropped the idea of weapon development. But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?”

Tony had almost forgotten that Rhodey was there. When he turned to look at him, he was scowling, which caused no small amount of bewilderment on Tony’s part.

“What do you mean?”

“[Name]. What was she doing here? I thought you didn’t talk to her anymore.”

“I don’t. Or I didn’t. But I’ve been trying to lately.”

“Really?” Rhodey’s eyebrows lifted. “Haven’t you done enough damage to her? You need to sleep with her, too?”

“I wasn’t going to sleep with her!” Tony snapped. All the accusations being thrown at him about his motivations were really starting to wear him down. “I just want to know what happened to us.”

“You can’t figure that out on your own?” Rhodey asked as he followed Tony into the kitchen. “It was all over the news, wasn’t it? You screamed at her at your father’s funeral. Something about her rubbing in the fact that your father loved her more than you.”

Tony froze in place, unable to finish digging out the pizza in the freezer. He didn’t know how many minutes passed before he turned back to Rhodey.

“Shit,” he said, and covered his face with one hand.

“Yeah,” said Rhodey. “I thought you might say that.”


	5. White Knight on a Chrome Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally put author's notes in the middle of my story-esque...er, stories, but this needs to be said: that rape/non-con warning? **This** is the chapter that has that. It's not graphic. It's not long. All the same, if you are worried that this will in any way trigger you, simply search for "******", which will take you past that scene. Or you can just wait for the next chapter. Whichever makes you most comfortable.

You had never been much of one to believe in wishes. As a child, your birthdays came and went, always with more wrenches and soldering irons instead of coloring books or crayons. Rubbing lamps only landed you admonishments; smart children did _not_ believe in magic. The more you hoped for, the less that tended to happen. Eventually you even stopped brightening at shooting stars in the hopes that, somehow, a tiny rock burning through the Earth’s atmosphere might bring you some friends.

But then, you supposed, _something_ must have worked. After all, you had ended up with two friends. First an angry boy that alternately hurled insults at you and demanded your company for hours on an end, second a cheerful boy that never stopped talking about himself. Even more impressive was that both of them remained a part of your life well into your adulthood. Maybe the knowledge of that was what had you holding your breath and crossing your fingers as the limousine drove slowly through the streets of Malibu. You still hoped that _something_ would get you out of the car.

“[Naaaame]. Why are you ignoring me?”

“Huh?” With a solemn blink, you broke your stare down with the glass in front of you. You must have been really out of it to completely miss Justin’s arm around your shoulder long enough for him to hit that tone of voice. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the faintest idea what he had been asking you, so _pretending_ you hadn't been ignoring him was not a possibility.

Justin rolled his eyes at your question. “You’re not still upset about me telling Don about your little defense system, are you?”

Still dazed from your mental wanderings, you shook your head. “No, I…” But you didn’t know how to finish that, since your brain immediately latched onto the memory of your father’s blustering rage when it turned out you were going the “Stark Route” of things– _and_ still had nothing to show for the years of engineering education he had pumped into you. Though the moment had long since passed, in your mind’s eye you could still see Justin’s smug expression just behind your father's red face that remained only inches from yours.

Justin’s fingers fiddled a bit at your shoulder, and then he drew you closer to him. You hoped you weren’t about to cry. Tears, as everyone always seemed to remind you, were weak, and the heir to [L Name] Industries wasn’t supposed to be weak. But if there were any signs of your approaching emotion–red cheeks, a tight throat, glassy eyes–he apparently didn’t notice.

“I was only looking out for you, you know,” said Justin, twisting you about so that he could press his forehead against yours. His fingers gently massaged your shoulders as you looked into his eyes. “Like your dad said, the Stark Route just doesn’t work. I don’t want your company to tank, [Name]. It’s– _You’re_ important to me. You’re _my_ girl. I only want what's best for you.”

“I know,” you said, and looked at his lips. 

The impulse to kiss him shot through you, but too slowly to launch you into action. You didn’t know what was wrong with you those days. It was true that, with Justin in prison, you had felt a modicum of freedom, but that wasn’t fair to him. He was the only person in your life that had ever expressed an interest in having and keeping you around. Justin _loved_ you, and you loved him. Try as you might though, you couldn’t seem to get things back on track. Your eyes slid shut and you moved your face forward and up, but right before your lips made contact with Justin’s, a familiar voice burst into your brain:

_“Already?”_

Despite your best intentions, you immediately pulled away and went to look back out the window. Yes, you wanted to get things back on track with Justin, but that was easier thought than done, especially lately. You’d been on edge ever since going to Tony’s, afraid that either he or Rhodey would say something to someone and get you caught. When it became apparent that no one was any the wiser about your visit, though, you began thinking more and more about your conversation with Tony.

You weren’t a teenager anymore, no longer a puppy starved for the barest scrap of affection. Tony Stark was an unnecessary bump in your road. Just meeting up with him on accident had got you into a terrific amount of trouble. What had you been thinking, sneaking off to sit in his living room? Even a week later, you couldn’t answer that question. It seemed as though just hearing his voice over the telephone had dredged up your childhood. That shouldn’t have been a siren call, but somehow it was. Listening to him asking you questions, like he actually _cared_ about the answers, seemed to have awoken something inside you. Try as you might, you couldn’t get him out of your head–and every time his face popped into your mind’s eye, you could practically _feel_ the familiar hormones returning.

But, again, that wasn’t fair. _Tony_ was the one that had told you to get out of his life. _Justin_ was the one that stuck around, that asked you to dinner, that called you in the middle of the night just to talk.

_Justin_ was the one looking confused about your sudden about-face. “[Name], what the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing!” You turned quickly back around and slapped on what you hoped was a cheerful façade. There was no need to alert Justin to your inner turmoil, but the height of your voice on that word certainly wasn’t going to do you any favors.

“Really? Because you’ve been acting like it burns when I touch you ever since I got out prison. I’m not sure what it is you want out of me. An apology, maybe? But that wasn’t my fault. That Turgenov–”

“Justin, I kn–”

“And, I mean, I’m taking you out to Geoffrey’s Malibu. I made reservations and everything! So I don’t know what your problem is, [Name], because I’m really trying over here, and I really shouldn’t even have to. Any other woman would–”

Before he could continue, you screwed up your courage and pecked him on the lips. You intended the kiss to be quick, just long enough to get him to take a breath, during which you could explain that his going to prison, however briefly, had nothing to do with your distant behavior-not that he would like the _truth_ anymore than the lie he'd put together on his own. But your lack of affection had more long-reaching consequences than you predicted: The thought of moving back toward the window barely occurred to you before Justin’s palm pressed into the back of your head, effectively deepening the kiss and trapping you there at the same time.

As the vehicle came to a stop at a light, Justin pushed you against the window you had been so desperate to get back to all those minutes before, kissing you all the while. With that there to keep you in place, he shifted his hands so that one held your hip and the other cupped your breast closest to your seat.

All vague thoughts about what your mother would say about your ruined cocktail dress went out the window. Suddenly there was far too much of Justin, and far too close. The tongue pressing insistently against at your lower lip had you moving your head swiftly backward. You ricocheted off the glass, moving your face _closer_ as you gasped with surprise and pain.

Justin moaned appreciatively at that development. His palms grasped both sides of your face. Clearly he didn’t care about the state his appearance would be in when you arrived at the restaurant because, by then, he was practically on top of you. His chest pressed so hard against yours that it squashed the life out of the sound of protest growing there. His tongue slid in and out of your mouth; his fingers tangled into your hair. With your eyes wide open, you could see just how much he was into the moment. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that such ministrations should feel good, you remained frozen, unable to respond in kind. The most you could manage was frenzied thought: _Not here. Not in the limo._ Anyone could see. The driver could open the door. If pictures got out–or even _rumors_ –so many people would be upset with you: your mother, for your lack of ladylike propriety; your father, for having sex in the first place; and Justin, for getting the two of you caught. _Please not here._

Each and every silent plea went entirely unnoticed. Justin’s lips began to slide lower and lower, down your neck, toward your chest. Then, with an ear-splitting noise in the otherwise quiet limousine, he shifted himself in a familiar position. Your slip and underwear slid down your legs. _That_ drove you into action, small as it might have been. You struggled to get up, a movement helped by Justin sitting up momentarily. Then your blood chilled at the resounding zip that followed.

“Justin, not-” you began. 

“Shhh,” he said, pushing you back down with his hand on your shoulder. “It’ll be over soon.”

It wasn’t over fast enough. The entire time, you held your breath, lifting prayers to whatever deity might hear you that no one would going to walk in on you, counting your heart beats, and waiting for Justin to finish. _Big girls don't cry_ , you reminded yourself every other second, and your focus on driving away your tears kept you occupied until, after what seemed like hours, the moment came to an end. He moved away from you to fix himself, allowing you to do the same–just in time.

“Sir,” came the voice of the chauffeur as the inside of the car filled with light, “your friends are beginning to worry you’ll miss your reservation.”

“Right you are, Everard,” Justin said brightly as he stepped out onto the parking lot. 

You knew that you needed to follow, that you were _expected_ to follow. For some reason, you just couldn’t get your legs to move. All you found yourself capable of doing was sitting there, staring blankly at your knees, wondering when Everard would give you up and close the door.

“[Name]?” Justin’s head darted back inside. 

You snapped to attention and rushed outside before he could ask you why you weren’t tailing him. Talking was going to be hard enough without trying to explain yourself. Your eyes met his–Justin was grinning–and then a crowd of people sitting in the outdoor patio called his name. He looked toward them, smiling even more widely, and waved as he took your wrist. Without thinking, you moved away, breaking the contact. 

“[Name]?”

“I–I…” You didn’t know how to finish, how to express anything you were feeling. Maybe that was because you _couldn’t_ feel anything. All you knew was that if you went and sat with all those people, with Justin rubbing your arm and kissing your temple every three minutes for the rest of the night, while you tried to play the part of pretty perfect doll, you would probably vomit all over the table. “I need some air.”

“[Name]–”

“I’ll join you in a few minutes!” you said, beaming wildly and blindly in Justin’s direction. “It’s just–the heat and the humidity. My head is spinning and…”

As far as you could tell, he was nodding slowly at you. Probably he didn’t believe you; probably he thought you were having some sort of meltdown because of the scene in the car. You were too far gone to care. Without waiting for anyone to suggest Justin or Everard accompany you into the dark, you stumbled away from the car, toward the edge of the parking lot. The Pacific Coast Highway lay only a little farther away, so at least you could see. The yellow glow of the streetlights puddled beneath your feet as you walked, until you found a large enough pool of light to stand underneath.

Tears burned against your eyes, despite your best intentions to keep your makeup in presentable condition. After all, you had to go back–back to Justin, back to your public life, back to the car, back to your family. You stifled a sob with your palm, looking behind you to make sure that he hadn’t decided to follow you. He hadn’t. The restaurant was far enough away that you couldn’t distinguish him from the crowd, but close enough that you would have been able to see his shadow standing in the lot still. Once you ascertained that you were alone, you combed your fingers nervously through your hair and took several long, steadying breaths.

You had absolutely _no right_ to have a panic attack. You were doing badly enough by leaving Justin on his own. It wasn’t as though he had _raped_ you. How long had the two of you been dating by then? Four years, you thought. That sort of commitment came with certain requirements and expectations. Of course, you’d _tried_ to say no–

Well, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such behavior if you weren’t such a stick in the mud, would he? Your mother was always telling you to lighten up. Maybe if you let him have his fun more often, that wouldn’t have needed to happen. It was _your_ fault. You'd started everything with that kiss. Even worse, you should have learned from the last time. Why were you so _stupid_? And now Justin was sitting alone with his friends, wondering when you were going to come back and give him the attention he deserved.

Your train of thought wasn’t exactly calming you. In fact, you would go as far as to say that you felt _worse_ the longer you stood out in the night. Goosebumps ran up your arms. Somehow, regardless of the heat you had only been complaining about a few minutes before, you felt immensely cold. The breath seemed to catch in your chest and come out in gusty shudders that made your entire body shake. A tiny squeak of a moan escaped your lips as you rubbed your palms into your upper arms and stared blankly down at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

Again, they didn’t move. No matter how you tried to convince them to take you back toward Geoffrey’s Malibu, they wouldn’t budge an inch. _He’ll tell Mom and Dad,_ you thought desperately, clapping your hands to the side of your head. _You look ridiculous standing by the side of the road in this dress. Someone’s going to try to pick you up._

At that very moment, an Audi came to a stop in front of you. Through the haze of panic filling your head, you hardly noticed. Hopefully whoever was driving the flashy thing would go away once they realized what a pathetic sack of a person you were, but a few seconds later, the window rolled down, and the man at the wheel asked: 

“Come here often?”

That voice–you _knew_ that voice. If _anything_ else was going to add to your hysteria that night, it was the man that voice belonged to. Your head snapped up so that you looked straight into the face of Tony Stark.

You couldn’t help it. You let out a scream and rushed to put the light pole between you and the car. Your heart hammered so loudly in your ears that you were afraid that your eardrums would burst...though that was a minor concern compared with the look that Tony was throwing at you from the safety of his vehicle. Obviously, the streetlight wasn’t going to do much to protect you, but at least if anyone spotted you having any sort of conversation, they’d assume you were trying to get _away_ from your assaulter instead of seducing a childhood friend. 

Tony quirked an eyebrow up at you. "Uh…what are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

“You know I can still see you, right?”

“Go away!”

Tony’s eyebrow fell back to meet its buddy. You didn’t know how long he frowned at you. In your present state, you found it immensely difficult to distinguish the passage of time. After several minutes of silence, he frowned more deeply still and ventured:

“Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_."

“Were you just crying? On the side of the road? Wearing a formal dress?”

“It’s a _cocktail_ dress,” you said, as you wiped your nose with the back of your hand.

“But you won’t correct the crying bit?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead of answering. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Nothing to see here.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he said. “You look very nice in that dress, minus the extreme displeasure to see me.”

You didn’t answer, and Tony’s frown grew again.

“Or…your displeasure at your date?” he suggested.

Your fingers tightened around the pole.

“Do I need to–”

“No,” you said fiercely, and somehow, that gave you heart enough to walk back toward the Audi. “Why would you have to?”

“Because if some bastard is bothering you–”

“No one is bothering me. And if they were, that’s not your concern.” The last thing you needed was for Tony and Justin to run into each other. You’d had enough of their fighting to last a lifetime by the time you’d hit your eleventh birthday. “Just–Just move along.”

As usual, though, Tony didn’t listen to you. You weren’t sure why you kept expecting him to. No one else did–

No, you were _not_ going to go down that route. Despite the dim lighting, Tony must have caught your flinch. His dark eyes darted back toward the restaurant, then he gestured you closer. You moved a few steps in that direction, but made sure to remain far enough away that he couldn’t reach out and touch you.

“If you hate your date so much, why don’t you ditch him?”

“And go where?” you asked. “We took the same car.”

Tony’s mouth popped open, then he rubbed the back of his head and said, hesitantly, “Come with me.”

The teenage girl that had taken up residence in your head lurched at that offer. Your present self, on the other hand, was a lot less keen to take him up on it. Tony might have been decent to you that week a few nights ago when you’d made the mistake of visiting his house, but that didn’t mean it was safe to start hanging out with him again.

“What if it’s my family?” you asked.

“Even better. I haven’t had a chance to piss Don off in…what? Nearly a month?”

You had no words to respond. _Tony_ might have been able to be blasé about infuriating your father, but you had no such freedom, especially with the threat of having to actually produce something for your company hanging over your head. Besides, what were you supposed to tell Justin? He’d be able to see that the limousine wasn’t taking you home–and even if it did, you’d get in trouble for ditching.

“It’s not a date.”

“What?” you blinked owlishly at Tony. He looked as though making that point plain to you was of the utmost importance. He shifted back slightly in his seat and gestured at the man in the passenger seat.

“I invited Rhodey. It’s not a date!”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Rhodey. You didn’t really know him, that was true. But he had always been decent to you. After Tony had shouted you out of Howard Stark’s funeral, Rhodey had been the one to lead you outside and sit with you until you looked presentable. When your father had come to shout at you for missing the ceremony, you had even looked back to see Rhodey watching after you with no small amount of concern creasing his brow.

Concern that you hadn’t deserved. You should have known better than to burst into tears at such a public venue. You shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of the fact that, prior to the meeting a week ago, the funeral had been the last time you’d seen Rhodey. His last memory of you was utterly pitiful. 

“Hi,” Rhodey said into your silence. “I did _tell_ him this was a terrible idea.”

Something about the way he looked at Tony set you just a bit more at ease. “I know how _that_ goes.”

Tony did not seem to agree. He rubbed his temples, then the back of his neck before saying, “Both of you are serious wet blankets, did you know that?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Rhodey. “Just make her feel worse about herself.”

“Hey, I happen to like wet blankets. You’re in my car, aren’t you?”

“Only because you begged me to go with you to Taco Bell.”

“See? I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you dousing everything in your path.”

“Thanks.”

“Wet blankets are the order of the day,” Tony announced, before returning his attention to you. “So what do you say? We can hang out, watch a movie.”

A rejection was on the very tip of your tongue when it occurred to you that it had been quite a while since you last checked to make sure that Justin wasn’t coming to get you. You looked back at the restaurant and felt ice run through your veins. A shadow hurried through the darkness in the direction of your lamppost. The shadow wasn't close enough to distinguish you, though, and you weren’t about to wait around to make sure they weren’t actually coming for you.

“Okay,” you said quickly.

“What?”

“Okay,” you said again, wrenching the door open to the back. Then you dived to the floor. “Okay! Okay! Just–Don’t tell them you saw me!”

“What do you–”

“Anthony! He-hey!”

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Tony muttered, just loud enough that you, (and presumably Rhodey) could hear. When he twisted back toward the window, you could _hear_ the painful smile on his face. “What do you want, Hammer?”

“Hey, now, Anthony. That’s no way to speak to a business rival.” Judging by the sound of Justin’s voice, he was actually standing at Tony’s window. You rolled yourself into a tighter ball and screwed up your face. Jumping into Tony’s car hadn’t been your smartest plan. If Justin found you there, you couldn’t even begin to _imagine_ how your parents would react. Rhodey’s eyes flashed toward you, then back to Justin’s face. You focused on the conversation again.

“You are _not_ my rival. You’re just a pathetic slime ball that keeps trailing me to pick up my crumbs. What are you doing in Malibu, anyway?” Tony asked.

With a rush of fear, you realized that warning Tony didn’t prevent you coming up in conversation. Justin might say something himself, even that he was looking for you. Then you would be well and truly cooked. 

Justin, however, merely laughed. “I’m allowed a vacation every now and then, Anthony.”

“What, jail wasn’t long enough?”

“Jail was nice. I should _thank_ you for getting me wrongfully accused, Anthony. Serving time for the destruction of your Expo really put things in perspective for me.”

“Like the perspective that you’re a–”

“Tony, stop.” Rhodey’s arm stretched across the gap between his seat and Tony’s so that his hand could rest on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Justin said smoothly. 

“Shut it,” Rhodey said, in as ugly a voice as you’d ever heard him use. It was really quite jarring. “I’m only saying that because you aren’t worth it. Now, why don’t you run along and get back to your sightseeing before I get out of this car and figure out a good reason to get you arrested for good this time around.”

“I’d just get out again.”

“That’s why you’re not worth it. The sidewalk is that way.”

The sound of Justin’s footsteps floated into the car, but not for long enough that you felt safe to sit up. 

“That’s all right. I have better things to do anyway. Isn’t that right, Anthony?” said Justin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony replied.

He laughed. “That just makes it that much sweeter.”

Slowly, his steps faded away. You watched until Rhodey stopped looking out the window, and then quietly rose.   
Rhodey snorted. “What an assclown.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t _believe_ he got off for that Vanko business!” Tony said.

“What do you think he meant by that last bit, about having better things to do?”

“Judging by the inflection?” Tony asked. “Probably that lady that interviewed me a few years back. As if I’m supposed to _care_ about who Miss Vanity Fair is sleeping with these days.”

At the end of his sentence, Tony caught your eye. You didn’t smile, still too on edge from that close run-in with Justin. He had meant you, you just knew it. Why Tony was supposed to care that you and Justin were dating, you weren’t sure. But you _did_ know that you’d prefer not to get into it at that moment.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked. “Do you want out? The movie offer is still open.”

“I–I’m not really dressed for it,” you managed.

“You can borrow something of mine, and change back into the dress before you’ve got to go home.”

“Don’t push things,” Rhodey said, in a warning tone that you didn’t really understand.

The best plan would be to politely decline, get back to the restaurant, and do your best to make things up to Justin for the rest of the night. Before your mouth could form words of parting, though, the younger you burst out:

“That actually sounds really nice. Can we go?” You threw a look back toward the parking lot. “ _Now_?”

Rhodey and Tony exchanged quizzical looks. After half a minute of looking at each other, though, the former shrugged, and Tony pushed on the gas so that the car lumbered forward.

“As you wish,” he said.

******

“You know, you really don’t _have_ to stay if you don’t want to.”

Tony was on the steps, coming downstairs with a fresh bowl of popcorn when Rhodey’s voice drifted up to meet his ears. He couldn’t help but frown a bit at them. It wasn’t as though he had been _planning_ to run into you that night and just so happened to get Rhodey to come along. But what was he supposed to have done? You were clearly distraught, and even if you wouldn’t tell him what was going on, he felt like he needed to do something to distract you. It was the least he could do.

“I know,” your voice said.

“No, I mean it.”

An odd sight greeted Tony’s eyes as he rounded the corner. You sat on the very edge of one chair, stick-straight, as though someone was going to attack you at any moment. That image was at odds with the baggy clothes of Tony’s that you wore. Your dress sat in a pile on a table. Rhodey was sitting not far away, at the end of the couch closest to you, and regarding you seriously.

“I don’t have anywhere better to be,” you said.

While you two were talking about whatever it was you were talking about, DUM-E kept playing with your hair. He seemed extremely excited to see you, and kept prodding you at every opportunity. You weren’t helping matters, smiling and patting DUM-E affectionately each time he pestered you. That AI was going to be _so_ hard to live with after you left.

“Look, this can’t be the most comfortable environment for you,” Rhodey went on.

“He seems like he’s changed.”

“Sure he has.”

“Changed in a good way?”

“That depends on who you are. And anyway, why would you want to hang around here? He was never nice to you when you were a kid.”

“Would you stop trying to scare her away?” Tony asked as he marched into the room. You stiffened as you stared at him, but relaxed–slowly, but, he was glad to notice, definitely. “I don’t have any plans to hurt you, [Name].”

You only smiled weakly in response, but at least it was a smile. Knowing that Rhodey wouldn’t be able to settle down until he got his big brother instinct out of the way, Tony sat the bowl of steaming popcorn down in between the two of you and wandered to the back to busy himself with adjusting the projector.

Sure enough, Rhodey picked things up again not even a second later. “You don’t even have to tell me what was going on back there–”

“Nothing was going on.”

“[Name], I’m not dense. You were clearly in trouble. But you don’t have to say anything. Just let me drive you somewhere you feel safe. Anywhere. Even the airport.”

“Really, Colonel Rhodes, I’m fine.”

“But–”

“The lady says she’s fine,” Tony said. “Let her be, Rhodey.”

“Just because _you_ don’t care–”

“I care!”

Rhodey looked at you, apparently expecting you to voice discomfort, but you didn’t. With a roll of his eyes, he cast his hands upward, then grabbed a fist of popcorn. “I can tell I’m being outvoted.”

“Good. That means it’s [Name]’s turn to pick the movie.”

“Actually,” you said, and Tony felt his heart sink even before you got your feet, “I _should_ probably get going.”

“Already?”

You colored at his words, but one end of your lips quirked up. “Yeah, I’m feeling more…myself now. Thanks for the distraction.”

“I’ll be your distraction anytime.”

“Sure, sure.”

You bent to pick up your dress, and in that moment, Tony came to a very sudden decision. “You did it enough for me when we were kids.”

Your fingers froze around the fabric. Hesitantly, your head moved up so that you stared at him. Tony thought that he had never seen anyone look quite so horrified to be a paid a compliment by him.

“Rhodey told me–what I did at the funeral,” he explained. 

You didn’t react. It almost seemed as though your pupils were shaking. 

“Not that I forgot really, I just…didn’t think it was that big a deal. And it was pretty horrible to say, after everything you did. So…I owe you.”

Your head turned slowly to look at Rhodey.

“Sorry,” he offered. 

After a long, drawn-out moment, you nodded. Tony saw your shoulders lift with a deep breath. He could see the effort it took for you to smile and pick your dress up.

“It was nothing. I was desperate to get out, too.” A very awkward pause filled the air after those words. Tony watched you, hoping for more, but nothing more was forthcoming. “I’m going to need a ride home.”

“I’ll take you,” he said quickly, but before he even finished the sentence, you shook your head.

“They’ll know it’s you. Colonel Rhodes, would you mind? They probably won’t recognize you, or care if they do.”

Rhodey grinned wryly and let out a single, dry laugh. “Sure. I’d be glad to. You go change. I’ll wait here.”

“Thank you!” And with that, you darted up the stairs. Tony watched until you disappeared entirely, then wandered over to slump dejectedly in your vacated chair. That had gone absolutely terribly, but on top of that, he was abstractedly disappointed that you were going to leave. Still, what reason did you have to stay? In the rare event that your parents noticed you were gone, you’d only get in trouble being discovered at his house. Maybe the problem was that he _wanted_ to be worth that risk.

Suddenly, a more lengthy bout of chuckling from Rhodey broke into Tony’s thoughts. He looked up with a scowl to see Rhodey regarding, smiling widely. 

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony, his eyes narrowed. 

Rhodey’s shoulders shook with a few more laughs, and then he shook his head. “Nothing. I just think you’re in danger of falling in love with her all over again.”

Tony’s heart stopped, then started up again very fast. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

“What do you mean, at all?”

Tony inhaled sharply, but had no time to pursue that subject. With a padding of feet, you arrived back in the room. Rhodey didn’t give Tony time to speak to you; he got instantly to his feet and walked out the glass door to meet you. You gave Tony one last, wide eyed look before you disappeared upstairs.

Maybe he was crazy, but he thought you might have mouthed _“thank you"_ in his direction.


	6. The Incredible Shrinking Woman

You awoke to a flood of cold water filling your mouth and rushing across your skin. Spluttering, you erupted upward while coughing around what liquid had slipped into your lungs. Your hair sent droplets scuttling down your back. When you thought to dry yourself off, you found doing so impossible because your sheets were sodden, too. Upon noticing this, you looked up–and found just what you expected. Your mother scowled down at you, thin fingers latched along her bony hips. Behind her stood a tall woman with a shock of red hair and a bucket gripped in her hands.

“That will be all, Theresa,” your mother said without looking back at her. 

Theresa bowed and quickly exited your bedroom. Your heart sank as she did. There had never been any love lost between you and your mother’s personal assistant, but her absence wasn’t welcome. You hated to think what your mother would say without an audience present; she hadn’t woken you up like that since you were sixteen. As soon as Theresa left, you lifted your wrist to wipe away the water dripping off your nose, determined to look anywhere but at your mother. Maybe if you feigned ignorance, she would leave you alone. For all you knew, you hadn’t done anything worse than sleep through an appointment in your mother’s eyes.

“Finally awake, are you?” came her cold voice not even a moment later. You knew that tone. Ignoring her would just make things worse. Sure enough, the next second, your mother took your chin and wrenched your face toward hers. “Where were you last night?”

_Don’t panic! Panic makes you dumber!_ Even in your head, your father’s shout was loud to make you wince as you attempted to settle back onto your pillow and appear put out by your wake up call. 

“What do you mean?” Your groan was only half-fake; if your mother actually knew where you’d been, you were a dead woman. “Justin took me out last night.”

She ripped the wet duvet off of you. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

After all her of plastic surgeries, that was a distinct possibility, but you knew enough to avoid saying so. You paused for too long, though. She whipped her arms across her chest.

“ _Justin_ came to see me this morning.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” she snapped. “So don’t bother with your doe-eyed Bambi 'the hunter just shot my mother' act. I already know that you weren’t at that dinner. Half the women in the country would kill to be in your shoes, but, oh no, _my_ daughter is too good for Justin Hammer.”

“I–”

Your mother threw herself onto the only dry corner on your bed and lifted her arms. “What am I doing wrong, [Name]? I thought I taught you better. But he showed up this morning, frantic because you went to ‘get a breath of fresh air’ and never came back! And here you are! Safe and sound!”

“Mom–”

“You’re telling me an outdoor patio near the sea doesn’t have enough fresh air for you?” Defeated before you could even speak, you ducked your head. “What’s _really_ going on here? Are you cheating on him?”

“No!” Maybe. Yes. Even speaking to Tony Stark would count as cheating to Justin. Heat rose up the back of your neck. You hoped your mother wouldn’t notice any discoloration there. “I just–I needed a moment to adjust and I went for a walk, and…I didn’t feel well, so I went home.”

“You’re a nasty little liar. I already checked the security videos–or, I had security view them for me–and you didn’t come in your limousine. Besides, if you had, how would Justin have got home? Do you take me to be an idiot?”

“No, ma’am,” you mumbled, by then staring intently at your fingers and wishing you hadn’t ditched your date the night before. In the bright glare of your overhead lights, going with Tony seemed incredibly stupid, like you were just asking to get everyone up in arms. What had happened with Justin was just sex, and there you went freaking out again.

“Then who was it?” your mother demanded. “The man that drove you home last night?”

“Just some guy. I don’t know.”

She pursed her lips and looked at you for a long while. Then, she sniffed and stood up. “Well, I can understand why your father despairs of your lying ability. You haven’t got any at all. You’ll have to study, and you’ll have plenty of time to because you’re _grounded_.”

“But–”

“No buts!” Your mother’s eyebrows looked in danger of disappearing into her hairline. “You have put Justin through enough. You wanted to punish him for getting arrested, that’s done. I don’t _want_ to ground you. You’re an adult–but you’re making bad decisions. Justin will be by later today, and you are not to leave this room until he comes. Do you understand me?”

“I–”

“Do you understand me?”

You took a great shuddering breath, and then let it out. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good.” She sniffed a second time as she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. “And you will apologize to him as well. And make things up to him. So until he gets here, you are to figure out how you are going to do that.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Somehow, your acquiescence must have aroused her suspicion, because she narrowed your. After a moment of watching you, however, she turned and left, closing the door firmly behind her. You stared after her and continued to shiver.

Grounded! An adult grounded by her parents. That was your life. You _could_ just move out but…You ran your fingers through your hair and stopped when they met a soggy tangle. Your shoulders slumped as your arm dropped back to the wet mattress. When you were such a disaster living around people, how were you supposed to manage on your own _without_ them?

Tony would just–

You screwed up your eyes to stop that thought. It did not matter _what_ Tony Stark would do in this situation. You were not Tony Stark. You’d never been; you’d never be. What you were was in a lot of hot water, and your mother was absolutely right. It was time to start acting like the adult you’d grown into instead of the teenager you used to be. When Justin came by, you were going to apologize and really, _really_ try to make things up with him.

But your mother had never said when he was coming by. For all you knew, it would be within the next twenty minutes, and he couldn’t find you sitting in your soaked bed still in your oldest, most comfortable pajamas. A hot shower was in order, as well as a change of sheets. You’d figure out where to go from there. Likely you’d walk back into your bedroom and find him sitting in the middle of things and pouting with impatience.

When you did at last finish your shower, Justin wasn’t there. Your hair was done and your face made up, but there was no one there to see you. Confused, you wandered over to the door and tugged at the handle–locked. Your mother had really meant it when she said you had to stay there, and considering all the times you’d been banned from visiting Tony as a child and weaseled your way out, she probably had someone standing guard outside the door, too.

Maybe Justin wouldn’t even come. Why would he? You didn’t want to bother getting all dolled up for someone that might not show up, especially considering lingerie wasn’t the most comfortable thing you owned. Instead, you slipped into a pair of shorts and a tank top that you could easily throw off when you heard someone knock. As you thrust your head through the opening of the top, a tiny, beat up cardboard box on the top shelf caught your eye.

You hesitated, squinting up at it. Normally that box was covered by a collection of fresh sheets, but since you’d needed those earlier that morning, the box had been exposed. When you pulled it from the shelf, a cobweb tore free of the ceiling and drifted to the ground along with the box. You brushed the web away before peeling open the box flaps.

Inside was a collection of things you’d rather your family not find–not that what you saw was particularly damning. You found exactly what you wanted to lying on top of all the junk: the cards Justin had sent you when you’d first started dating. You opened them up and started to read. Around the fourth, a pressed rose drifted out of the paper and onto your carpet. It had not been pressed professionally (this not being a skill your parents had thought important to impart), but its appearance dredged up the memory of receiving the flower loud and clear. Reading the card you'd pressed into wasn't required. 

Justin had brought the roses himself, back before you’d started dating. It was after Tony’s parents’ funeral, something you hadn’t managed to sit through without bursting into loud, embarrassing tears. When Justin got to your house, you were locked inside your room, curled up in a ball and refusing to talk to anyone. He’d got you out, though, coaxed you gently until you were able to get up and dressed, and then he simply sat there until you managed to stop crying.

With something of a smile playing on your lips, you read through the card. See? you thought to yourself. He _does_ care about you.

Feeling buoyed by this discovery, you adjusted your sitting position and dragged the box into your lap. It wasn’t large or heavy, so it balanced easily on the place between your knees. You dug your fingers into the next layer of papers to flick through them. They were mostly photographs. Nothing incriminating if someone decided to go through your room, but certainly not anything you wanted to advertise you’d held on to.

The you in the pictures got younger as you went through them. Pictures of you and Justin in your early twenties gave way to pictures of you in high school, struggling through the extra homework your father gave you. Eventually those faded into pictures of you as a child, there sitting in the garage welding, there dressed for a photo shoot, there getting first place in the elementary school science fair when you were eight. Your dad was in that one, too, with his hands swallowing your shoulders and his mouth beaming straight at the camera. You looked like you always had back then: blank.

You paused to look at the black-and-white newspaper clipping. Things had been so much easier when you were a kid. At least back then, your father had _pretended_ to like you. Maybe when you had had rare flashes of genius, he even had liked you for real. As you put that photograph down, you felt a pang. Perhaps looking back through the past had been a bad idea.

The rest of the box was mostly the same: magazine and newspaper articles featuring you and your family, old papers you'd got back graded in class, and pictures of you as a child. Justin’s prominence grew less and less the further back in time you went. Soon all that was left was a copy of your birth announcement. You made to put the rest of the stack on top of it, but stopped upon seeing several crumpled wads of notebook paper stuck in the corners of the box.

It almost felt as though you couldn’t breathe as you tossed the contents of the box onto your carpet. The rolls of scrap paper fell among the pile of articles, and, for a moment, you left them there. They were supposed to be gone. Burned. Just like everything else. Out of sight, out of mind. Even better: out of existence, out of mind.

Maybe they weren’t what you thought they were. The longer you sat there, the twitchier you grew. Unfortunately, as much as you tried to convince yourself that you needed to just get everything picked up for when Justin decided to get there, you just couldn’t manage to begin the process of cleaning. Before you knew what was happening, you were tossing paper and photographs everywhere in a mad attempt to find the tiny wads of paper.

And there they were. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink until the only things inside it were you and them. Then you snatched them up and started to unfold them. Your fingers shook, but stilled almost instantly as you spotted the familiar handwriting on the sheet.

_You’re doing it wrong,_ said Tony’s untidy scrawl–back from when you were both just kids, when you were _supposed_ to hang out with him, because your father wanted information on the Starks and you were just lucky enough that Tony wanted you around and Howard didn’t mind.

_What am I doing wr–_

But that note ended there. It was ripped into pieces, and the scrap clutched in your hand was the only bit that remained. Two other notes remained, however, and if _one_ note between you and Tony had survived the purge, it stood to reason that others had as well. You peeled open another nugget, this one fatter than the last. Sure enough, it was another note, though both writers’ handwriting had improved in the interim time. Just the same as the last, Tony started the note:

_You’re staying later than usual today, right?_

_Isn’t your dad having a party?_

_Yeah. That’s why you should stay._

_I don’t know._

_What, you got better things to do? Hanging out with that Hammer kid again?_

_He’s not a kid._

_Well, that answers THAT question. Why do you even bother with that guy? He’s a jackass._

_My dad wants me to._

_Let me reiterate: HE'S A JACKASS._

_I never said he wasn’t. Why do YOU care if I have to hang out with him?_

_You’re not a jackass like he is._

_Really?_

_You have boobs. Boobs detract from jackass points._

_So you’d like Justin if he were a woman?_

_NEVER speak of that again. That’s going to give me nightmares. On second thought, you’re not invited._

_But I want to come!_

Of course you would have wanted to come, though you couldn’t remember if you had got to or not. By the time this note was written, the situation had changed considerably. Justin was there, and presented a _far_ more appropriate playmate than Tony. But you still sneaked out to visit, almost weekly, until Tony went off to MIT. You looked at the last note, unraveling at a more leisurely pace. You might have meant to get rid of all traces of communication with Tony, but at least you’d buried them so deep that no one else had stumbled on them.

_I don’t like the way he looks at you,_ began the final note, in Tony’s still-messy writing. The numbers at the top of the scrap dated the note at sometime after Tony went to college, during a Thanksgiving break he hadn’t been able to skip out on. 

Your return handwriting was slick and neat: _And how does he look at me?_

_Like he wants to eat you._

_You mean the same way you look at all of YOUR girlfriends?_

_I said eat you, not eat you out._

_Please don’t write me such vulgar things._

_Wait…are you still a virgin?_

_Tony!_

_You ARE! God, Hammer must not be too into you if he hasn’t popped your cherry yet._

_Justin wouldn’t. He’s a gentleman._

_Shows how much you know. Anyway, no one will be popping your cherry at my party, so you should come._

_You’ll be popping plenty of others’. I think I’ll pass._

_What if I promise no sex? It isn’t healthy for you to be hanging out so much with that asshole._

_It isn’t healthy for me to sit around watching you make out with Victoria’s Secret models._

_These aren’t models. There wouldn't be enough models around to fill my quota._

_Oh, you've got a quota. Branching out into orgies, are we?_

_Do you want to come or not?_

_No, Tony. I don’t. Your girlfriends hate having me around. They make snide comments._

_I defend you!_

_No, you don’t. You join in._

_You could stand to lighten up a LITTLE. Maybe if you tried for some sex appeal, someone other than Hammer would want to date you._

_Justin and I aren’t dating. Besides, he likes me the way I am._

_You know what? On second thought. Don’t come. No Hammers at my party, Mrs. Hammer._

Mrs. Hammer. You snorted. Well, not yet, at least. And definitely not then. You knew how you’d been at that age: hopelessly in love with Tony and hopelessly disgusted by Justin. It took that major fight at Howard's funeral to knock you off that path.

With a sigh, you sat up, wondering vaguely if you had cried about not being allowed to go to the party, or if you really had been sick enough of Tony's insults to bother trying to sneak in. You got to your feet before glancing at the clock next to your bed. It surprised you to find out that it was nearing two; your little trip down memory lane had taken much longer than you thought–and still no Justin.

Your mind quickly filled with thoughts of what he might have been doing instead, or at least the women. His sleeping with someone because you weren't available wasn't out of the question...No, such thinking did not help matters. With swift steps, you walked back over to the door and tried the knob again–still locked. 

“Hello?” you called as you pounded on the door. “Hello? I don’t want out, I just…”

But you didn’t know _what_ you wanted. If there was someone standing out there, they didn’t make themselves known. You turned away, returned to the box, and began to stuff its context back inside it. The notes you put in first, pausing first before deciding that leaving them crumpled would be for the best. After shoving those things back into the closet (and covering them with a pile of old clothes), you wandered back into your room to collapse on your bed. It was damp, at least, not sodden, but still not comfortable. Who knew how long you were going to be trapped in there?

Maybe it was the residue from the notes sticking to your insides–that seemed to keep happening, you letting the past in and it taking over–but somehow you just didn’t feel up to sitting around all day. Justin could sleep with all the women he wanted. He always had. But were you _really_ going to play Rapunzel and wait around for him to rescue you from your tower?

Maybe what you _needed_ was a little Tony Stark.

The thought sent a thrill of electricity up your arms, enough that you sat up and dug your toes into the carpet. Yeah, a little bit of Tony. What would Tony do? What Tony had always done: exactly what he wanted, and not what anyone else thought he should do. Would _Tony_ let his parents ground him for walking out on a date? No. Would _Tony_ wait around for his significant other to show up? No. You let out a wild laugh. No, Tony definitely wouldn’t do that. Tony Stark owned his situation, now more than ever. You weren’t a superhero, but wasn’t what your family wanted a second Tony Stark?

So you’d give them one–not enough of one to get in the papers, but enough to…well, enough to make _you_ feel better, at least. Your mother might have locked the door, and she might have posted guards, but she forgot one thing: you weren’t a kid anymore. The door was the obvious choice, yes, but you also had a window and enough guts to get you to the ground floor.

Before you could chicken out, you slipped your shoes on, grabbed your things, and got started.

******

“I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you out here. I was beginning to think you weren’t ever coming back.”

Even though you should have expected the conversation, you still jumped when Gladys plopped herself down on vacant spot on your bench. Your fingers almost slipped away from your camera–thankfully, only almost. Breath still fluttered awkwardly in your chest as you looked up at her to say:

“Wh–Why wouldn’t I be here?”

The elderly woman only stared at you for a few seconds, then snorted and looked away. “Thought maybe those parents of yours had stopped you.”

“Why would my parents care if I was here?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Her brown eyes fixed on yours hard enough that you momentarily flinched away. When you looked back, she had returned her gaze to the duck pond in front of her. “Think I don’t know quality when I see it? That’s no cheap camera you bring around every other week.”

“I got it at a garage sale.”

“You’re a terrible liar, anybody ever tell you that?” Gladys asked as she turned back toward you. You could feel yourself flushing, which only added to her amusement. The elderly woman smirked. “’S not like I give a damn what you do for a living. You need to come out here to get away, you do that. So long as–”

“I keep bringing the bagels.”

“Don’t interrupt your elders,” she said with narrowed eyes. You noticed that they also darted down toward the package of strawberry bagels you’d brought with you that afternoon. A moment later, a duck waddled up, quacking. Gladys only sat the food more firmly in her lap, and with good reason. Gladys, like everyone else you spoke to in regards to your “project” was homeless. “Bad day at home, I’m assuming?”

“Not the worst.”

“Why don’t you just move out? You clearly think my situation is better.”

“I don’t.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of an idiot?”

“Almost every hour.” That time, Gladys had no response. She remained silent as you clicked through your work for the day. Because of this, you were startled a second time when she practically stuffed a bagel into your face. “Eat it!”

“Oh, no, Gladys, I couldn’t–”

“Eat it, or I won’t help you out anymore.” To be honest, the duck needed it more than you. You needed Gladys more than the duck, though, so you took a large bite while the bent, wisp of a woman glared up at you. Her several layers of coats were in bad need of patching, and you felt a deep pang of guilt as you looked. You wanted to do more for these people, you really did, but if you did too much, everyone would know who you were. Your disguise and fake name would be shot; your father would find out; Justin would throw a fit. You couldn’t afford that, but tinkering around with the photographs was becoming less and less fulfilling as time wore on.

“What’s that look for?” Gladys demanded once you’d finished the last of your bagel. 

You actually did feel a bit better after eating. Somehow, Gladys always knew what you needed–not that getting it didn’t come without a price, or that she was always happy about it. Still, she’d found you wandering the streets aimlessly the week after Justin was arrested, and after you explained that you were taking pictures of the homeless situation in Malibu, she’d dragged you off to a more appropriate venue. Ever since then, she'd been your guide...and, really, your only friend.

“I–” What you intended to tell her, you weren’t sure. Your problems always seemed so stupid when you were out working. Whatever it was, you never had the chance to form the words before your phone erupted into song. Flailing, you dug through your things until you found it. It wasn’t a number you recognized, so you let it go. They didn’t even bother to leave a voicemail, but the encounter had your heart racing so hard that it hurt.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Gladys asked. 

You shot her a firm smile. “Nothing! I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

Since that wasn’t a lie, no one told you to come off it that time. Your companion just nodded and went back to her bagels. You sighed and flicked off the camera. Your “Tony has balls so so should I” attitude had faded disappointingly quickly after you’d got off the mansion grounds. It had reappeared for a little bit while you’d been taking photos, but now that that was over, all you felt was massive disappointment and guilt. Justin would have called, if he’d got to your room and found it vacant, but you had no way of getting back up through the window without getting caught. Tony didn’t have to worry about getting caught. _He_ didn’t have parents. He didn’t have a girlfriend either, as far as you could tell. No reputation to worry about. As much as he might have joked about being a good role model, he was still Tony. And you were still you, much as you wanted to shed your skin.

“Look,” Gladys said, “you got enough for today or what? I gotta bunker down for the night and I don’t need you following me home. You'll ruin my street credit.”

“I’m good,” you said, trying hard to keep the dejection out of your voice. 

Gladys got up, took the bar on her stolen shopping cart, and began to trundle off. You stood, intending to race after her and give her something, but you were afraid of how a she’d react to a gift of more than food. She didn’t like it when you made her a charity case. Soon, she’d disappeared, which left you surrounded by quacking ducks and screeching children. Your heart sank all the way to your toes. It wasn’t even seven o’ clock yet, and going home was the very last thing you wanted to do. On top of everything else, you did not need a lecture about turning into a hoodlum. You sat back down onto the bench and stared at your toes.

How did Tony do it? He’d never, for all the years you’d known him, been able to stomach being told what to do, or having someone do something he didn’t tell them to. Those old notes you’d found earlier that day had been proof enough of that. You, on the other hand, had always been a doormat. Your handful of escapes to take pictures of people, like they were in some sort of zoo (it wasn’t as though you could publish them and make a difference without your world crashing in on you) were the closest thing you’d ever got to rebellion. With Justin back, your chances were getting even smaller.

_You_ were getting even smaller.

Tony Stark, whether he had intended to or not, had woken up something inside you: that teenage girl in love with someone that she could never have, someone that basically hated her. He'd woken up someone desperate.

You plucked your phone from your purse again, this time with your hands shaking with anticipation rather than fear. Your fingers scrolled through your past received calls until you found the number Tony had called you from a week before. After selecting it, you shook your hair away and pressed the phone into your ear.

“Hello?” Tony’s voice asked from the other end of the phone.

“Come get me,” you answered. “Please.”


	7. Chemical Reaction

One thing you’d never understood about Tony: his penchant for working to incredibly loud, incredibly verbal music. Saying that you disliked music would have been a lie...but it wasn't untrue to claim you didn't like _his_ kind of music–not while you were trying to get things done, at any rate. You’d tried as a child, to please your father and Tony. It hadn’t worked then, and it wasn’t working as an adult either.

Your laptop screen trembled with each hit of bass coming over the speakers. One hand remained clapped over an ear as you worked on editing the day’s pictures. It occurred to you several times that you could get more done at home. You told yourself that this was a lie. At home, you had to hide your project. At home, Justin would arrive and need your attention. At least at Tony’s, no one cared what you were doing. He himself was busy working on another one of his suits.

You might have dropped any proper engineering long ago, but you knew impressive when you saw it. By the time you reached the age of six, your father had drilled into you almost every mechanical term known to the English language, but you did not recognize half of what was going on with Tony’s armor. He seemed to know what he was doing at least, whenever you looked back at him. Every so often, DUM-E would wave when he caught sight of you, sending you back to your screen. Tony already felt smug enough for “rescuing” you earlier. Letting him catch you staring would only make things worse.

“H…y. [N…me]. [Name]. [NAME]!” You jumped; the man in question appeared right next to you. With your heart throbbing a mile a minute in your throat, you looked up at him. Slowly, Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” you practically shouted over the tumult. If you had not had a headache _before_ arriving at Tony’s place, you certainly did now. Telling him this was out of the question. He was being kind enough to let you crash there until dinner. You did not want to insult him in return.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!”

He must have caught your answer that time around, because he rolled his eyes. “Is the music too loud?”

You swiftly shook your head, eyes wide. Tony deadpanned.

“[Name]. Is the music too loud?”

“No! I’m fine!”

“If the music is too loud, tell me.” You said nothing and merely watched him blink. “Do you want me to make it _louder_?”

“No.” He wouldn’t be able to hear that, but Tony read your lips just fine.

“Grow a spine and ask me to turn the music down.”

You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and screwed your lids shut to prevent yourself from crying. The last thing you needed to do at this point was show weakness in front of Tony Stark. Unfortunately, with your vision gone, your brain only focused more on the sound drumming into it. When you cracked your eyes open again, you kept them carefully focused away from Tony’s face.

“Please turn the music down,” you said.

He cupped one hand over his ear in answer.

“Just a little. Please turn the music down.”

“I can’t hear you. Music is too loud. JARVIS, would you–”

“PLEASE TURN THE MUSIC DOWN,” you bellowed, just as Tony’s butler turned the music completely off. Your voice echoed throughout the garage. You flushed, listened, and looked up, suddenly terrified. Tony stared straight down at you. Before you could stammer out an apology, he lifted a hand and patted you on the shoulder, as if to congratulate you for a job well done.

“Follow me.” He motioned for you to get off the couch. 

You hesitated. “Wh–What do you need?”

“I need your help with something. It’ll only take a minute.”

That was the only explanation you got. Without waiting to see if you really were following, Tony walked back to his suit. He rubbed at his chin, seemingly oblivious to your lack of presence, until you finally felt confident enough to take a place next to him.

“You’ve got small hands, right?” You held up a hand; his eyes flicked to it and to the slot of the armor that must have held its power source. “Yeah, that’ll work perfect.”

“What will work perfectly?” A hint of hysteria crept into your voice. Tony didn’t notice. He just clapped once and turned toward you.

“Could you do me a favor?” When you did not answer, he continued, “I just need you to connect a couple of cables for me.”

“Why me?” you asked, even as you resisted the urge to flee the building. After all, you didn’t have any way to get home. If you had to walk all the way there, someone would definitely have time to notice your absence. It was some sort of miracle that they hadn’t yet.

“Uh, because A) I promised Pepper I wouldn’t ask her anymore, even though that was the one in my chest, and B) _You’re_ actually _here_.”

“What about DUM-E?”

“You seem to be seriously overestimating DUM-E’s skill level.” Tony’s eyebrows lifted. You looked away, again. It wasn’t healthy letting you fill your eyes with him too much. You were already making so many mistakes. “Look, I swear I won’t make fun of you about it. And it’s really easy. Just–two minutes of your time. Please.”

“And you can’t wait until Pepper gets back?”

“Pepper only stops by every couple of days to make sure I haven’t self-destructed. And I saw her this morning. So, no.”

That threw you off a bit. Obviously, you had never met Pepper before, but she popped up enough in news stories about Tony that you understood her to be a very vital part of his life. Hadn’t you just read something about Pepper and Tony being an item around the same time that Justin went to jail? Tony's comment made it sound like that was over.

Which meant? Absolutely nothing. What did it matter to you if Tony Stark was single? To keep yourself from thinking any further about that, you half-hopped over to the suit to stare down into the circular pit in its chest. A few tangles of wire, including an exposed twisting of copper, could be seen in the shadows. When you glanced back at him, he gestured for you to get on with it.

Though he had not exactly told you what he needed from you, you understood well enough looking at the problem. All your lessons came rushing back to you–but so, then, did the nerves. Your heart pounded even harder than it had at any point during that day. You swallowed, hard, and looked inside the pit. Your fingers slipped inside to grip one of the wires.

_At least it’s not the one on his chest,_ you told yourself, but the thought of having to deal with Tony shirtless was the final straw. Your nails scraped against the metal lining. The wire slithered into the depths of the suit–“Careful, don’t–” Tony began–just as a large, bright spark erupted out of the slot in the armor.

“I’ll begin the diagnostics,” JARVIS said. 

All _you_ did was gape at the damage you had done. The suit looked the same as it had before, but just like everything else, you'd ruined it just by touching it. A trembling hand wavered upward toward your mouth.

“Wait,” said Tony, but you couldn’t even bear to look at him. A moment later, you felt his hand on your shoulder. Your chest burned each time you tired to inhale, but you couldn’t properly breathe. Breathing was not important. All that _was_ important was you not crying, but the urge to do so grew more and more difficult by the second. You were so distracted by the chaos in your head that you didn’t even notice that Tony was steering you back toward the couch until you collapsed onto it with a massive sob.

“No, don’t–Don’t _cry_ ,” said Tony. He had stopped touching you; you were capable of noticing that much. Now the main question was whether to cry in front of him, which your dad would hate, or run from the room before Tony could see, which your dad would _also_ hate. Tony’s hand pressed on your shoulder again, and immediately retracted. He held both his hands several inches away, like he was suddenly afraid of physical contact. “Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry over this.”

“I know–I don’t _have_ to cry,” you managed to say, but your voice was so choked by that point that you couldn’t be sure if he understood.

“No crying. No crying in my garage. This is a no cry zone.”

That only made you want to cry worse. A few tears leaked out of your eyes and ran down your cheeks. It was enough. The pressure lessened, you took a deep steadying breath and forced a smile.

“You–You also don’t have to _not_ cry,” Tony said, looking distinctly uncomfortable for him. Maybe Pepper didn’t always burst into tears whenever he was around. Lucky her.

You tried to make him feel better with a forced laugh. “Make up your mind.”

“I’m just tired of making you cry. So if you could maybe…not do that at my house, that’d be great. Please.”

“I’m not crying. You don’t have to say 'please.'”

Tony nodded, looking somewhat relieved. A very long, very awkward paused followed. Not even JARVIS or DUM-E interrupted. You twiddled with your fingers and wondered if you could get back to your photographs. Then again, you didn’t want Tony to see what you were doing any more than you wanted Justin to, and after you’d all but destroyed the suit he was working on, Tony didn’t have much to do other than watch you apparently.

“Hey. [Name]. What’s going on?”

You stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean you’re acting different.”

That got a _real_ hysterical laugh out of you. “Tony, before last month, we hadn’t talked in years. How do you know this is different for me?”

“It’s bad different.”

“Bad different?”

“You’re not…you.”

“Again, I’ve done some changing since I saw you last. This _is_ me.”

“And you’re perfectly comfortable being someone that flinches away from attention and cries every time she makes even the slightest mistake?”

“That wasn’t _slight_!” you snapped. It was the angriest you’d got with him so far, and Tony noticed. He held up both his hands until you took a deep breath and spoke more levelly: “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, there is _nothing_ going on in my life that is your business. I’m absolutely fine. I’m more fine than I’ve ever been. And I _don’t_ want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though there was a sort of sardonic edge to his voice. “But could you cut it out with the ‘Mr. Stark’ business? I’ve known you since you were _five_. We’re friends. It’s Tony.”

“We’re not friends,” you said automatically. Tony rolled his eyes once more and made to rest his cheek on his hand.

“Then why did you call me? Why are you _here_?”

“I don’t know!” You threw your hands into the air, causing Tony to start. “I was just out there working and–and I didn’t want to go home. And you’re the only person I know, even though you’re crazy and horrible most of the time–”

“Crazy and _horrible_?”

“–And ever since you decided to start talking to me again, I just keep doing _stupid_ things. This is just another one of those stupid things! And my parents are definitely going to find out, and I’m going to be in even _more_ trouble. I just–” The tears came back, and this time there was nothing holding them inside. “I just wanted to work on my project.”

As usual, your surroundings sort of disappeared when the tears started. You disconnected. Remembering where you were and who you were with only made things worse, so you tried your best to forget–and you did. It was impossible to tell how long you were out before the sound of something being set on the coffee table nearby startled you back.

Tony was there, of course. His hands were in his pockets, but when you looked down at the table, you saw a coffee mug. “You still like…tea, right?” he asked. You nodded, and he picked the cup up and handed it to you. For a few minutes, you kept yourself occupied by gulping down the scalding liquid. The burning reminded you how you were supposed to act. Understanding that you didn’t intend to speak again anytime soon, Tony sat down next to you.

“You know, I am getting really tired of making you cry.”

He’d said it already, but something seemed more honest about it that time. Gasping around the heat in your mouth, you placed your cup back on the table. “You say I’ve changed, but _you_ never cared about making me cry before.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony shrugged as he leaned back against the couch cushions, “like I said before, I went to the Middle East and I met someone.”

“You mean a woman.”

He looked at you, half-confused for one moment, and then he laughed. “For once, no. A guy, and, no, I _didn’t_ sleep with him.”

“I wasn’t going to–You mean you’ve–”

“His name was Yinsen,” Tony interrupted. “I only knew him for a week, I think. It was hard to tell time in that cave. Anyway, we talked and he said some things about how I had all this money and power and sex and no family or friends, and I guess I just…remembered that when you showed up at my Expo.”

“So,” you looked at the ceiling and squinted, “you decided to start talking to me because some guy in a _cave_ insulted you?”

“Not quite, but sure. Let’s go with that.”

“I’m not trying to be dumb. It’s just, c’mon on, Tony. When we were kids, you didn’t _care_ if I cried or not. In fact, you seemed to enjoy causing it. You didn’t like me most of the time.”

Tony’s shoulders tensed. “It’s not that I didn’t like you. You know, it was just my father and you, I–” But he broke off as you jumped to your feet. Quickly, before anything else could be said, you began to gather up your things. It was not exactly difficult, considering you hadn’t spread out much upon arrival. Unfortunately, you needed it to be difficult to keep your mind off of–

“Where are you going?” Tony asked.

“Um.” You straightened. “Home.”

“In the middle of my sentence?”

You shrugged.

“Is this about what I just said about my–”

“No.”

Tony shot you one of his _you’re an idiot_ looks. “We don’t have to talk to about my dad. In fact, I’d prefer if we didn’t, so forget I said anything.” When you continued to stare at him, he pointed at the seat you had so recently vacated. “Sit.”

You sat. You didn’t even have to think about sitting. Doing what Tony told you to came as easily as counting. The years of trying to placate him as a child hadn’t completely worn off. Still, you gripped the handles of your bag stiffly in your hands as you watched him take in your obedience. It appeared to throw him off a little.

“Thanks,” he said, but he ran his palm across the side of his head and looked around, obviously casting about for a different subject. If Tony did not know what to talk about, why had he asked you to stay? As you thought this, his eyes lit up.

“You said you’re working on a project?”

“Yes,” you said slowly, fingers tightening around your belongings.

“Is it still in the blueprint stages?”

“No,” you said, just as slowly.

“It’s not an engineering thing, is it?”

“No.”

He waited for you to clarify, but you didn’t. What would Tony think if you admitted you took pictures of people and then edited them on your computer? You weren’t supposed to be an artist. You were supposed to put together weapons. He frowned into the silence, his eyes darting around the garage.

“Can I…see it?”

“No.”

“You’ll sit on command, but you won’t let me look at a project you were crying about when I ask politely?”

“It’s not your business.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

You looked at your laptop at the same time he did. A brief scuffle for possession followed.

“Tony, stop!” you shouted not even a minute later. He froze, then calmly backed away. That didn’t quite convince you that he would drop the issue though, so you hugged the laptop to your chest.

“What, do you think I’m going to try to find your nudie pictures?” he asked. 

“No!” Your mind raced as you tried to remember if you’d deleted the last batch, or at least encrypted them.

Tony squinted. “You _have_ nudie pictures? Wait. Is your project _porn_?”

“No!” What if someone was _listening_? It didn’t make sense for them to be. How could anyone know that you were at Tony’s house? One passing mention in an interview that all was forgiven did not a friendship make. At least, _you_ didn't think so. Your father had made it pretty clear that everyone else thought otherwise

“I was about to say, I would think I would recognize you if it was.”

This was the part where you were supposed to say “Charming,” and come off as mature and blasé. You just didn’t have it in you. At least the tears had stopped. That gave you enough heart to put your computer away–in your bag–and look back at Tony.

“It’s just something stupid I took up to fill my time.” There. You even managed a smile. “It’s not anything impressive, and I’m not very good at what I’m doing. It’s…” You shrugged, at a loss for how to finish in any sort of casual way. “Nothing,” you finished. “It’s nothing.”

“Were you out working on that when you called me?”

“How did you–”

“You looked a lot calmer then you did last time I found you by the side of the road.”

You forced yourself not to tense up as your brain skittered around the events of that evening. Apparently if you forgot about it, Tony had to remember, which was just perfect. You’d always wanted him to remember you as the sad, pathetic girl crying in a parking lot.

“What was happening with that, anyway?” he asked.

“Just a date I wasn’t enjoying. And I paid for it this morning. Mom grounded me.”

“Your parents _grounded_ you?”

“Yeah, but I ignored them and left to work on my things.” A hint of pride crept into your voice. Tony might still find you spineless, but you knew yourself well enough to know how big a step that was. It threw you off, then, when he appeared taken aback.

“You snuck out?” he asked.

“I did it last week to see you,” you answered.

“Yeah, but _that_ has precedent. Besides, I’m a big a deal. If you snuck out to work on something, it must be a pretty big deal.”

“It’s not. I assure you.”

“If I promise to not tease you, can I see?”

“No.”

“What if I promise to say it’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen?”

"That would be a lie."

“Why are you so difficult?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“So, have you shown anyone this?”

“Who would I tell? My dad would have a conniption, and Mom would want to know why I was bothering. And she’d tell my dad, who would have a conniption.” _And_ your boyfriend would absolutely forbid you from pursuing the idea, not that Tony needed to know that. “It’s nice having something that’s just mine.”

“You know you’re old enough to have a life that’s yours, right?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you said lightly, and then stood. “Thanks for letting me crash here again, but it’s getting late and I should get home. I still have to figure out how to climb back through my window.”

“Hey, you want me to drop you off in the suit? It can reach windows.”

The thought of your family’s faces, seeing Iron Man accompany you home, brought a smile to your face. “That is the worst idea you’ve ever had.” You shook your head. “Well, maybe not the _worst_.”

“But it made you laugh,” Tony pointed out. His next words surprised you: “You look nicer when you smile than when you cry.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your quick smile faded just as quickly. It was as though Tony had read your high school diary, before you found out your father paid your housekeeper to read it and you burned the book away. Your teenage-self would have thought this afternoon was a dream come true.

But what could you do? Tony only knew to say these things because he liked women. The lines that worked on you had probably worked on three dozen underwear models in the past year alone. And it was not as though you could ignore the years before, the years when he made fun of you because he could and the decades during which, to him, you did not exist. More importantly than all of that: you had a boyfriend-a boyfriend that had _not_ spent your teenage years making you feel bad, and who certainly hadn’t ignored you for most of your adulthood.

“Take me home,” you said quietly, looking at the ground.

“What? Did I just say something wrong? I thought we were having a moment here.”

“Just,” you pressed the air down in front of you, “take me home.”

You risked a glance up at Tony’s face. Was he startled or upset? You couldn’t tell. But after nearly thirty seconds of gazing at you with his mouth-half opened, he nodded once, got to his feet, and wordlessly pulled out his keys.

******

  
By nine o’ clock that night, you wondered if you should attempt to get grounded more often. When you were out of sight of your family, you were also out of their mind. Not a single person had noticed your absence; if your mother had directed the guard to check in every so often, he clearly had not bothered. When you clambered back into your room that afternoon, everything looked exactly as it had when you left. You even risked texting Justin to ask where he was and received absolutely no response.

Which was fine with you. No one came by to demand your presence at dinner either, which meant you could do whatever you wanted. After the car ride with Tony and your long walk home, that was sleep. But you didn’t want to wake up to find Justin in your bed, so that activity was out.

Instead, you took a long bath, got into a pair of pajamas that were at least nice enough to pass an inspection from anyone that might drop by, and snuggled into your sheets to work.

Working on your photography had been exhilarating when you first started. When Justin came back, however, it lost its edge. You felt so hopeless outside of the work that it failed to make you feel better. After sneaking out and even maybe telling off Tony a little, Photoshop got you feeling a bit wild again. Maybe one day you’d be brave enough to _do_ something with your pictures–like put on that art show you’d thought of a month or so ago, to raise funds for people like Gladys.

It was the pleasant thought that kept you going until that evening. You might have gone on longer had someone not knocked on your door, causing you to quickly shut off your computer and stuff it underneath your bed before calling:

“Come in!”

Just as you expected, it was Justin. His lips curled at the ends as he stuck his head inside. “Knock knock,” he said.

You’d already told him he could enter, but you smiled just the same. Best to not throw the proceedings down the drain so early. If he complained to your mother about this meeting, she’d probably tell your father. Your friendly gesture did seem to give Justin heart, and he wandered into the room, making doubly sure that the door was closed before he sauntered over to your bed. From there, he placed his hands into his pockets and regarded you from above.

“How’s my girl?” he asked.

“Remorseful,” you answered, because there was a script and you had to stick to it. “Why’d you tell my mom I ditched you? You could have just _told_ me I hurt your feelings.”

“Didn’t seem like you’d want to talk about it. You ran off so fast last night.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t feel well. I didn’t want to go back and do something embarrassing, like throw up on your shoes.”

He winced. Maybe Justin had not thought of that. But he continued, “Then why didn’t you _call_ me?”

“I just forgot.”

“And went home with another man?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“[Name].” Justin chuckled, and then settled himself onto your bed, above the sheets but close enough that he could play with your hair. The part of you still fretting over the night before wanted to recoil at the touch. You forced yourself to stay put. “You’re lying to me.”

“No, I’m…”

His knowing smile scared away the end of your sentence. “Why are you lying to me, [Name]? I’ve never lied to you.”

Because he _bragged_ about the other women, about getting out of jail, about the tax loopholes and everything else. Maybe not directly to you, but people talked in front of you pretty often. If he wasn’t so proud of himself, he _would_ lie. Again, you remembered that you were not to make things difficult.

“Justin, there isn’t anyone else out there in the entire world for me,” you said, and it was true. Who else would want you, as pathetic as you were? As your mother constantly reminded you: You were lucky to have Justin. This was especially true in light of how you’d felt about him when you were younger. Most guys wouldn’t wait that long. You reached out and took his fingers. “I wandered off because I didn’t feel good. When I realized I needed to get home, I asked that man for a ride. Nothing else happened. I promise.”

“Well…” He looked up at the ceiling, then flipped onto his side to snuggle up to you. His lips met your forehead. “I can’t stay mad at my [Name], can I?”

“I paid for it, you know. Mom grounded me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. But hey, at least you get visiting privileges.”

You laughed. “That’s true.”

He kissed you on the tip of your nose, then on your lips. “Hm,” he hummed. “We fought yesterday in the limo. I’m real sorry about that. What do you say we start over?”

“Start over how?”

A smile peeled across his face; his hands dipped down to rub hard circles into your chest. You gasped and hardly caught his suggestion:

“Can I sleep over?”

And what else could you say but yes?


	8. Cliff Diving (Without the Cliff)

Is a cage still a cage if it keeps the monsters out? This was the sort of thing you wondered about in the week that followed, most of which you spent working (more like hiding) in the garage. Your little act of rebellion–and your following act of acquiescence to Justin to spending the night in your bedroom–had somehow convinced him that everything between the two of you was alright. All of your problems probably should have been solved, but somehow that knowledge didn’t prevent your stomach from twisting every time you had to be with him.

More than anything, it was probably everyone else’s reaction to your mended relationship that caused your body to respond in such a way. The very next morning, your mother had practically squealed with delight upon seeing him leading you downstairs. Since then, she couldn’t seem to resist patting both of your heads and telling you how happy she was for you whenever you made the mistake of being in the same room with her. Your father, of course, didn’t give a damn if you were happy, so long as you were still dating Justin. He expressed his pleasure by lecturing for you for forty-five minutes straight, then shouting about how you hadn’t started that project for the company yet.

It got to the point that you wanted to shout _will you leave me alone?_ Unfortunately, the one time you tried only resulted in a very stuffy silence on the part of your mother and boyfriend. Retreating to the garage to "work on the project" for your father was the easier option. At least, it was easier from the standpoint of keeping you out of the crosshairs of your completely insane family. Actually starting the project caused you to briefly reconsider returning to their company. Your stomach’s reply of almost expelling your breakfast was the only thing that kept you from leaving the confines of your laboratory.

A week later and absolutely nothing had changed, except perhaps the pool of crumpled paper spreading across the floor from the overflowing trashcan. You had the capability of creating something, but nothing _new_. Your interest in engineering had stretched only as far as keeping your father happy. Now that you were an adult and that didn’t work, you didn’t much see the point. Doubtless he would find something at fault with whatever you designed anyway. But you had to try.

Your stress levels, which had reached hitherto unknown heights the night you’d gone to pick up Justin and ran into Tony again for the first time in years, only ratcheted upward. If anyone had chosen to visit at that very moment, they would not have recognized you under the layers of used coffee mugs, scrawled notes, ink, bolts, and smeared makeup. You probably wouldn't have recognized yourself either, but you were a little too busy welding to bother looking for a mirror.

Just as you sat up to admire your work–the metal wasn’t supposed to look _burnt_ , was it?–the intercom sitting on the desk behind you blared. You threw it a disconcerted look, but quickly snapped your mask back over your face and got back to welding. Whoever it was, they probably just wanted you to come out for lunch. Anyone that lived with you should have known by then that once you got started on something, once you started panicking about something, you didn’t take breaks until the job was done.

You figured that after three beeps, the person on the other end would leave you alone. If you had to rot in the garage, then you’d rot in the garage. But after three beeps, the noise continued, and the sixth time blared continuously until you whipped off your helmet, pelted toward the desk, and pressed the button.

“Hello?” you asked, entirely out of breath.

“[Name]! Get to my office!” your father shouted without preamble. “Now!”

He clicked off, leaving you panting and listening to your heart beat too-loud in your ears. Your father had sounded angry, definitely angry. But you had been down in the garage for the past six days and usually turned up only well after he had retired for the evening. There was no way your father was upset over having not seen you for nearly a week, so what else could it be? Other than that he’d found out about you sneaking off to see Tony–not once, but twice! And not to insult him either, but to hang out in his basement to get away from your responsibilities.

You were dead. You were so, so dead. _And_ you’d spent your last week alive working on designs for something you didn’t even want to make.

For a moment longer than you really should have hazarded, you let your forehead rest on your hand while you stared into space. Maybe you were hoping to think of some excuse, but nothing came. A second later and: 

_Beep_! “I said _now!”_

“Yes, sir!” 

You leaped to your feet, snatched up your backpack in case your father wanted to look at the notes crammed into it, and scuttled toward the door, quick and careful, as though there were mines underneath the floor. Before you swept up the stairs, you paused to look behind yourself at your work. From that angle, the missile looked more like a mess of wires tangling out the top of a steel shell. But you didn’t have time to stew on the ramifications of such a mess with your father upstairs getting angrier by the second. You shoved away the temptation to lock the door and hide away, and pelted up and through the hallways. Several maids carrying tottering stacks of laundry dove out of your way, yelling after you that just because you didn't have to do chores didn’t mean that you should make their lives harder. 

The one benefit of getting consumed by a project was thus: You didn’t care about anything else. As you hurtled up several flights of stairs and skidded along the waxed hall floors, you didn’t care that you were wandering around the house looking disheveled and unfashionable; you didn’t care that half the servants would run off to report your behavior to your mother; and you didn’t even care that Justin was probably somewhere waiting for you to pop out of hibernation. All of your drive, formally focused on work, was now targeted like a laser beam on getting to your father’s office. 

Not even five minutes after you had burst out of the garage, you skidded into the conference room. A chair stationed nearby served well enough to stop your forward momentum, but not in graceful fashion. You disentangled yourself and looked up to see three other people occupying the room: your father, in his head chair; an intern, frozen in the act of placing a fresh cup of coffee at your father’s elbow; and Justin, unable to suppress a smirk at your antics. A very long, uncomfortable pause stretched across the time it took you to take in all the details. 

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” you father demanded. Then he blinked, swatting away the whispered attentions of his intern, and added: “And your face!” 

Unthinkingly, you reached up to feel your forehead. A cluster of acne ran along your hairline; nothing a shot wouldn’t fix, but at the same time, nothing your mother wouldn’t find objectionable. You opened your mouth to respond, but not before your father’s eyes narrowed further. 

“And what are you wearing?” 

Justin, who had been otherwise preoccupied by pressing his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, finally allowed himself a chuckle. You straightened slowly as he neared you. Your father watched, too, while Justin paused to examine you, then took your waist with one hand and a laugh. “Well, I like it.” Liked _what_? you wondered. He answered your question the next second, dipping his lips down so close to your ear that his words tickled. “Did you forget?” 

You threw your father a terrified glance. If you got the question wrong, something terrible would happen. Miraculously, he was not paying the slightest bit of attention to you now that Justin was speaking. Something on the television had apparently captured his interest. Your long pause, then, was only noticeable to Justin 

“The party!” he said loudly. By then, he was laughing freely. “The party, silly. Didn’t you hear me when I told you about this weekend?” 

All you could remember was a haze of anxiety filling your conscious hours. If Justin had told you anything over the weekend, you had either slept through it or refused to think about the further unpleasantries some fancy party would encompass. A party, really? Why was your family having a party? 

“It’s in four hours,” your father barked, apparently having returned to the conversation while you were busy staring blankly into Justin’s eyes. “And you _will_ be making an appearance. Personally I thought you’d try a little harder to look decent, but if you want to look like a vagrant, be my guest.” 

“I didn’t–” 

“Not to worry, [Name]. I thought this might happen, so I had your mother put a little a something together.” 

“My moth–” 

He pressed a finger into one of the buttons on his cellphone. “Hey, Darla. Could you bring up [Name]’s dress? The one Mrs. [L Name] ordered a few days ago? Yes, that one. Thanks, doll.” 

“What’s this–” 

“And where’s that project you’re supposed to be doing for me?” your father practically shouted over your boyfriend’s continued supplications as to what you could to do to improve yourself before this social gathering apparently taking place: 

“After all, you’ve still got time. I’m sure you could shower and get made up before the first guests arrive! Even if you’re a little late, it wouldn’t be too big a deal. It’s just a little thing. Important, though.” 

“I swear to God, if you were down there sleeping instead of working, you’ll wish you weren’t born. You’re an adult. You’re expected to earn your keep–and you certainly aren’t!” 

Somewhere in this tumult, Darla arrived, handed Justin a dress encased in a thin plastic sheet, and left again. He held it out for you. 

“So why don’t you try it on?” 

“So why aren’t you doing anything?” 

These last two questions were shot at you at the exact same time. Having not been allowed to get a word in edgewise previously, it took your brain a moment or two to realize that a response was required. Both men blinked at you, then each other, then you again. You took a deep breath, but found yourself capable only of asking: 

“Why are we having a party?” 

Your father snorted as he lit a cigar. “Are you deaf as well as dumb now?” 

Although you winced slightly at the reprimand, you did not allow yourself to stammer when you answered, “This is the first I’ve heard of it.” 

“No, it’s not,” Justin protested. “I told you three nights ago!” 

“Okay,” you said, perhaps more sharply than you might have otherwise. To go from stressing out over doing something you had been trained to do to stressing over something _else_ you’d be trained to do wasn’t making you particularly amiable–and at least building weapons in your garage wasn’t something to be done in front of other people, likely the heads of various other companies that your father wanted to impress. “I must have forgotten. Explain, please.” 

Your father and Justin exchanged looks from across the room. When Justin turned his face back to you, it had an expression of pity on his face. This was very disconcerting.

“[Name], I’m leaving.” 

All your insides seemed to turn to ice. “What?” 

“I’m going back to Queens.” 

“Oh!” This was apparently the incorrect reaction to the news. You’d thought he’d meant he was leaving you entirely, which your father would not have taken kindly to. But Justin’s going back to his home could only mean good things for you. Clearly, you were supposed to act otherwise. “I mean…oh.” You put a much more wishful note on the last word this time. “Why? Do you have to go back to court?” 

He chuckled and ruffled your hair. “No, no. Don’t be silly. I just need to get back to doing some things for my own company. I’m more than happy to help you and Don out, but it’s been long enough. Some of the stockholders are getting a little antsy.” 

Your heart dropping was probably because of Hammer Tech’s angry stockholders and not because Justin wasn’t going back to jail. Good girlfriends didn’t want their boyfriend to go to jail. He must have taken your stricken expression as worry for himself as well, however, because he shot you a sympathetic smile. 

“Hey, don’t look so blue. I’ll be back in a month or two. And I’ll call you every night. Promise.” 

Justin wouldn’t. He never did. But when he lifted a pinkie, you wrapped one of your own around his. You felt strangely at peace with him leaving this time around, but maybe that was just the lingering numbness that came after you spent several days on end in your cave. It always took a bit for you to get used to dealing with people again. 

“So this party thing…” you prompted him. 

“Is just so I can say ‘Hey, don’t forget me. Don’t call me, we’ll call you. Love what you’re doing’ to all the businesses around these parts I can’t keep in contact so well with when I’m all the way on the east coast.” 

__

__

“Sounds like a good plan.” 

“Yeah, and it’ll be better if you’re there.” 

You chuckled, although the sound stuck a bit to your throat before you managed to choke it out. Parties with Justin, as a general rule, always turned out awful for you. Last year, around the same time that Tony’s expo began and Justin was spending an awful lot of time in his lab with a man from Russia, you’d attended one at which you’d found him tongue-deep in a reporter from _Vanity Fair_ 's mouth. 

“If you two wouldn’t _mind_ ,” your father said testily, “I have work to do. Go pet each other elsewhere.” 

“Right you are, Don,” Justin answer in typical blithe fashion. It was odd that your father was frustrated with him, but then, your father got frustrated with PDA wherever he saw it. Before he could do more than shout, you slipped outside into the hall and had paced nearly all the way to the stairs again by the time Justin caught up. He smiled apologetically as he did. “I did tell you, you know.” 

You shrugged. “Probably. I’ve been a little distracted lately.” 

Justin nodded solemnly. “The thing for your dad?” 

“Among other things.” 

“Such as?” 

You pressed your lips together. Telling him your burgeoning return to friendship with Tony Stark had not been part of the plan and would be sure to ruin the party for Justin and both your parents. “Us,” you answered after a moment’s hesitation. 

“But we’re not fighting anymore,” he reminded you. 

“It was before we made up,” you said. “ _Then_ it was the project. I just want it to be really, really good. Sorry for ignoring you.” 

“Hey, no harm, no foul. You still going to come to the party?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Unless you had any way to miss it without repercussions. You wished more than ever you’d just stayed in your little garage cave. If you tried hard enough, you could probably password protect the door, which would buy you at least a few hours before one of your father’s techies cracked it. 

“Don’t forget the dress. I’m sure you’ll look great in it.” 

You took the proffered fabric with a close approximation of a smile. “Thanks.” 

“See you tonight.” He kissed your cheek, spun about, and strutted back toward your father’s conference room. You watched until he disappeared, then began to trek back downstairs with your chest tightening all the while. What did it matter if you were going to have to go a party and be ignored and put on display in equal parts? It was nothing less than you had come to expect. 

On the ground floor, plans were being put into motion to such a degree that you were somewhat surprised you hadn’t noticed during your headlong sprint upstairs earlier. Even you could not be so oblivious as to not see the shimmering gold fabric twisted up the banister or the new paintings adorning the walls or the pungent aroma of the hundreds of flowers currently lingering in the entrance hall. You made to take the final step onto the floor, but were cut off by a workman walking by with a vase full of them. 

“No! Not there! Why on Earth would we want flowers in the _kitchen_? Will the guests be visiting the kitchen? No! To the left, Earl! The left!” 

Your mother stood at the opposite end of the room directing traffic. Currently her eyes were buried in her hands. The stairs leading upward toward your room stood right behind her. Maybe if you hurried, you could sneak past her without her noticing. You tiptoed quickly across the floor; your hand actually wrapped around the railing, but it was no good. Her eyes flashed open at the sound of your foot on the bottom stair. 

“[Name]!” she gasped. “What are you _doing_?” 

“Going upstairs?” 

“I meant with your hair! And your face! And your…” She pressed her fingers into a temple. “Just–Just get upstairs before Justin sees you.” 

“He already has.” 

For a moment, she looked horrified. Then your mother rolled her eyes. “Heaven knows that man loves you more than I would if I were him. No! Earl! Farther down the hall. Do I have to do everything around here?” 

She hurried off to correct Earl, leaving you by the staircase among the flurry of furniture rearranging happening around you. Not a single one of the men looked your way. They were busy, and you were invisible. This was only an indication of things to come. Why were you being so oversensitive that day? You darted up the stairs and to your bathroom before your mother could return and hurry you there herself. 

You waited until the very last minute to come back downstairs four and a half hours later. By then, the sun had set, and the entrance hall was lit only by the enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the clusters of much smaller candles set about the room. Your chest loosened considerably as you noticed how empty things were. A few well-dressed guests stood in a distant corner, chatting with one another; a pair of security guards–bouncers, really–were busy at the front door. 

“It _looks_ legitimate,” said one. 

“Yeah, but would Mr. [L Name] give _him_ one?” 

“Maybe it’s the other guy. It’s _his_ party.” 

“But it’s Mr. [L Name]’s house.” 

“Should we maybe go and ask?” 

“You want to interrupt the [L Name]s' party? Don’t you remember what happened to the other guy?” 

“No, what?” 

Frowning, you narrowed your eyes in an attempt to see through the two men’s massive shoulders. The effort was moot. You couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to crash your company’s party, or what trouble they could really get into. Whatever their reasoning was wasn’t any of your business. While the security guards continued to debate whether or not to let the crasher in, you darted past them and toward the hallway beyond. Probably if they noticed you, they’d make you stop to be announced to the partygoers. This directly contradicted with your plan of slipping inside and pretending as though you’d been there the entire time. 

Creeping down the empty hall, you could hear the faint strains of orchestral music playing from the ballroom. You paused at the doors, then opened them a crack to peer inside. The sudden blaze of light made it difficult to see. All you’d wanted to do was make sure that Justin wasn’t somewhere nearby to see you entering. Before you could ascertain as much, however, a pair of hands tugged the door out of your grip. 

“Here, let me get that for you.” 

You couldn’t help the tiny shriek that slipped from your lips. A couple nearby twisted in their chairs to look at you, but you quickly retook possession of the door and closed it. When you turned around, you already had your hands on your hips. 

What are you doing here?” you hissed at Tony. 

His eyes snapped from the door to your face. “I was invited.” 

You gasped. “Liar!” 

“What is _with you_ people? You’d think this was the Oscars or something.” When you continued to look disbelieving, he heaved an exaggerated sigh and pulled one of his hands free of its pocket. “I have an invitation.” He lifted a folded sheet of card stock to your face. You squinted at it, but were unable to tell whether or not it was authentic, not having seen any of the real invitations. Still, it _looked_ real enough. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Because I was invited,” Tony said slowly. Maybe he realized a moment later that that made it sound as though he thought you were dense; he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked back at you. “Besides, I figured you’d be around here somewhere. You clean up nice.” 

You blushed. “Who would have invited you?” 

“You mean it wasn’t you?” You shook your head; Tony shrugged. “Must’ve been Justin. Probably wants to rub in the fact that _he’s_ working with your dad’s company instead of me.” 

“Why is that supposed to bother you?” 

“No idea,” Tony said. “Probably something to do with something stupid he said when we were kids. I can’t even remember what it is anymore.” 

“That seems to happen a lot with you,” you muttered. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing. I think you should leave.” 

“But I just _got_ here, _and_ I haven’t had the pleasure of either irritating your father and showing Justin up in a venue of his own choosing.” 

“I thought you already did that in Monaco.” 

“My car got blown up. Besides, I was dying and–” His gaze sharpened. “How do you know about Monaco?” 

Too late you realized you’d indicated that you and Justin were still in contact. Maybe you could make up some excuse–you saw it in a magazine; sometimes you looked Tony up online–but if Tony talked to anyone at the party, he’d probably figure out that you and Justin were more than friends. You started to push Tony back toward the front door without making the conscious decision to do so. 

“You need to go!” you whispered. “Now! Before someone sees you!” 

“But I–” 

_“Leave!”_

Maybe you would let Tony dictate the terms of your actions at _his_ house, but not at yours. If anyone saw you with him, you were more than dead. Unfortunately, Tony was a much more solid object than your arms were able to move. You gave him another shove, moving him barely a foot forward, when the door behind the two of you opened. _Oh, God, don’t be Mom or Dad,_ you thought. 

“ _There_ you are.” The pro? It wasn’t either of your parents. The con? It was worse. You felt Justin’s hand on your back, heard the smirk in his voice even when he only chuckled. “Don just sent me to find you. You’ve missed about an hour of the party. I don’t think I have to tell you that your mom is _not_ pleased. Now, let’s just go in and–” 

At that moment, his eyes fell on Tony. You were all but forgotten in the tense silence that followed. It was, thankfully, very brief. Justin threw out his arms. 

“Hey, Anthony! You made it!” 

Tony caught your eye, allowing one end of his mouth to quirk up. “Hey, it’s my least favorite person.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that, Anthony. _I’m_ the one that got you in. It’s my big night!” 

The longer Justin talked, the more Tony’s scant amount of amusement seemed to drain away. By the time Justin finished his third sentence, all traces of amiability in Tony’s face had gone. “Yeah, well, every dog has its day.” 

They both slipped their hands in their pockets, both rolled onto the balls of their feet and back. You stood between them as you always had, terrified of things escalating. One second, you looked at Tony’s face, the next Justin’s. Your breath began to catch in your chest. If no one said anything, you were going to either have to run off or risk blacking out in front of them. The latter was preferable–then you wouldn’t have to think about what they were saying to each other–but likely neither would notice when you fell and hit your head on something. 

“What were you two doing out here?” Justin asked after an extended pause. “In the dark?” 

“Nothing,” you said quickly. 

“Nothing,” Tony said, and his manner had become so cold that even you felt your heart quiver at the statement. Justin watched your face, then shrugged. 

“Well, whatever. Let’s all get inside! They’re about to make the big announcement, and I’d hate for you to miss it, Anthony.” 

Tony grinned widely and without mirth, but followed Justin’s gesturing arm toward the ballroom. Your throat tightened at the thought of what Justin might say to you once Tony was gone, but instead of speaking, he just guided you in Tony’s wake. 

“Sorry to spring Anthony on you like that, [Name],” he murmured in your ear. “This is just a once in a lifetime opportunity. We’ll talk about it later, okay?” 

“Okay,” you squeaked. Your brain had got stuck somewhere between relief at no longer having to stand in between your two childhood friends and terror at whatever was being announced that both you and Tony had to be present for. Fortunately, having to explain your demeanor to Justin never became an option. As soon as the two of you stepped inside, a bouncy woman you vaguely recognized from a magazine cover hopped up to Justin. 

“Justin! You promised me a dance!” 

“Oh, oh, right, right,” he said soothingly. “[Name], do you mind?” 

“Not at all,” you said, but they had already left. You were left to wander around the edge of the dance floor until you found an empty table. Probably you were meant to sit up front with your family and several reporters, but every seat was taken. This was just as well. At least alone in a corner you could fret in peace–unless someone asked you to dance, in which case _that_ would at least get Justin’s attention.

“Hey, cheer up. It’s supposed to be ball. Or a party. The invitation isn’t very clear.” You started and looked up to find Tony taking a seat next to you, as if this were the most rational thing in the world. 

“What are you _doing_?” You didn’t want to know. “We can’t be friends with my family around!” 

“Oh, so we’re friends when they’re _not_ around? You’re sending a whole lot of mixed signals, you know.” 

“Go away!” 

“What if I make it look like I’m harassing you?” 

“What part of "go away" is such a difficult concept for you to understand?” 

“Yeah, not going to happen.” To prove this, he pulled out a second chair and placed his feet on it. You followed his gaze to see Justin and the woman dancing. “Well, he still can’t dance. I’m guessing the big announcement is _not_ that he’s going to be on _Dancing with the Stars_.” 

You said nothing, though Justin’s lack of dancing ability was something you could readily attest to. Whatever you said would probably get back to him. To distract yourself from your anxiety, you tried to find food, but it was all the way across the room. If you could keep your parents from spotting you, you would, which meant the rest of the evening would have to pass in hungry, uncomfortable silence. 

Or so you thought, until Tony said: 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” 

“That is one of my least favorite things to hear,” you said. Tony’s grin reappeared, this time more genuine. 

“Let’s ditch.” You gaped at him; his grin only grew larger. “C’mon. You don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Why give Hammer the pleasure?” 

You tried to smile wryly in return. “Because this 'ball' is being given at my house?” 

“So?” 

“So I can’t really leave.” 

“Who’s going to notice?” You hesitated too long to give him an answer. “If memory serves, before this night is over, your mom is going to get drunk and go upstairs with whichever one of the men around here will have her, and your dad will spend the entire time playing to the press.” 

“What about Justin?” 

“Frankly, who gives a damn? Besides, he’s danced with, like, eight people since we got here. _He's_ not going to notice if either of us goes missing.” 

“I…but…where would we go?” Tony took your hand without answering and pulled you from your seat. When he started to move back toward the doors, you tripped after him. “Where are we going?” 

You hadn’t really agreed to go to begin with. Likely Tony hadn't realized that he had not waited to hear you agree. But, like always, it was an adventure. You’d never been able to say no to an adventure with Tony. After getting you out into the empty entrance hall, he finally spoke: 

“You pick.” 

“Wh–What?” 

“You pick where we go.” 

A protest was on your lips when it suddenly occurred to you: You’d never been out to take pictures at night. Tony was there, which presented a problem, but not one you didn’t have yourself. But then…he’d probably think your project was super lame once he’d actually seen it. 

“Do you–Do you still want to see my project?” you asked. 

His eyebrows lifted. “You mean you’ll show me?” 

Biting your lip, you nodded. 

“Is this one of those things where you act like we’re friends but then say we’re not?” 

“Yes?” Tony frowned. “I mean–Friends, okay. We’re friends. I just don’t want my family to find out.” 

He paused, then bowed his head. “Understood.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Did you _truly_ want to show him your photography project? Actually, yes. It was the one thing you were doing in your life that you were proud of, and he was the one person you could tell. Barring this party of Justin’s, Tony never came around your place, meaning that, more likely than not, he would have no chance to tell anyone else what he had seen. 

“Wait right here,” you said in a rush. Leaving him downstairs would arouse less suspicion than taking him to your room. It took less than ten minutes for you to return anyway, carrying a small box. 

“Is that it?” he asked. 

“No! It’s just…take it!” 

Tony took a step backward. “I don’t like being handed things. Don’t you remember me at all?” 

“I try to block out the details.” You’d said the words blandly enough, but Tony still looked oddly hurt. “How have you survived this long?” 

“That’s why I had Pepper,” Tony pointed out. With a roll of your eyes, you sat the box down at a nearby table. Tony stared at you for a minute longer, then picked it up and popped it open. He pulled out a pair of black earring–magnetic ones that didn’t require actual piercings–several locks of fake hair, and a dark eye pencil. “Um? What is all this for?” 

You threw a look behind you at the ballroom. No one was exiting, but you didn’t have time to answer Tony’s questions. Quickly, you moved toward the front doors, hoping Tony would follow with the supplies. He did, though you did not answer until the two of you were well off the grounds of your family’s home. 

“We have to go in disguise.” 

“Intrigue.” Tony nodded. “I love it. But where is my disguise?” 

You gestured toward the box. 

“Seriously?” 

“I don’t have one made up for guys. That was my backup plan, in case anyone recognized me. But I’m invisible, so no one does.” 

He stared at you as if he hadn’t ever properly seen you before. “You really have thought everything through, haven’t you? Except for the part where I am wearing a tuxedo and you are wearing a gown.” 

“I–” 

“Whatever. We’ll go to my place and pick up a change of clothes. Or we could just have dinner or something there and wait until we’re both wearing shirts.” 

You frowned at that. He was quite obviously making things difficult on purpose. There you were, offering to show him something very personal and Tony was saying the two of you should just eat instead. 

“Do you want to come or not?” 

“Did you actually just stomp your foot?” he asked. “I thought girls only did that in Harlequin Romance novels.” 

“How many romance novels have you read?” 

“More than I care to admit.” 

You looked up at him for what seemed like ages. The moon was up and it all seemed very romantic, like something out of dream–except, of course, that you were you and he was Tony Stark. You reached for your box with a sigh. To your very great surprise, he lifted it out of your reach. 

“Oh no,” said Tony. “You aren’t getting out of this that easily.” 

“Tony, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to come.” 

“I want to come. I just think this ‘disguise’ could use some work. Do one thing for me?” 

“What’s that?” you asked. 

“Let me help.” 

Tony Stark had helped you dozens of times over the course of your life. Sometimes you regretted allowing him to very much. But there, outside at night, dressed to the nines and about to rebel for the nth time in so many weeks, you couldn’t find any regret at all. He wanted you to give him a chance, and suddenly you wanted to give him a chance, too. After all, Justin was off dancing with every other girl at the party and, well… 

Somehow, miraculously, you were visible to Tony. 

His eyebrows lifted higher and higher as he waited for your answer. You licked your lips before speaking. 

“Okay,” you said. Just ‘okay.’ But it was enough. Tony smiled and you smiled back. You even giggled when he grabbed your hand again and took off toward his car. You felt only one pang as you ducked inside: 

Rebellion was a drug, and you were pretty sure you were getting addicted. 


	9. Always Look Before You Leap

It was a testament to Tony’s influence over you that you managed to stay at his house as long as you did–or maybe just a testament to how much you hated parties. Regardless of how you found yourself there, you found yourself there. You had to hand it to him; he really did know how put together a disguise. And there you’d been thinking he wouldn’t own _anything_ that hadn’t been fashionable in the last month or cost less than a small European country. Where did he go after leaving you by the front door and calling “one more thing” over his shoulder? You didn’t know. You just stood there, looking around, not really afraid, but not comfortable enough to wander either.

Your only company for some fifteen minutes was a very strange picture. You might not have noticed it, had Tony not left you there for so long. On about your fifteenth circuit around the entrance hall, a box sitting next to a potted plant caught your eye. It might have been vain to believe, but your first thought was that it had to have been another box of childhood knickknacks referring to you. This didn't exactly give you permission to go snooping, and yet...

Imagine your surprise when it turned out to be a collection of worn VHS tapes and frayed journals! On top of all of this sat a portrait of Tony’s dad. Your fingers only brushed the frame, but that was enough. You leaped backward to stare at Howard Stark’s face from a greater distance. He looked just as you remembered him, save for in black and white. A hard lump grew in your throat; an apology gathered on the tip of your tongue. It took a great force of will to prevent its escaping. What good would apologizing to a picture do anyway? It wouldn’t change the past–or the future.

Still, you might have given in, had you not suddenly felt something soft thrust over your head. You whirled around to find that Tony had returned. The soft thing was a hat, which he finished pulling over your ears with a grin that could only be due to your reaction. Once you had regained control of yourself you smiled back.

“There we go,” Tony said. “Now we both look like a couple of average Joes.”

“As if _you_ could ever look like an average Joe.”

Your cheeks burned. That was far too close to flirting. Tony, however, must have been too used to such comments to even notice yours. He just chuckled and mussed your hair through the ski hat like an affectionate brother.

“Yeah, well, that’s just a loaner–unlike that jacket of mine, which, yes, I saw and don’t recall saying you got to keep.”

“Right,” you said. You could feel heat prickling up and down your arms. Should you just go home? It was too late to back out now. If you did, Tony would never let you hear the end of it, if he stuck around. It was surprising to realize how much you wanted him to. Picking up where you’d left off with him would only lead to trouble and heartbreak, something that his father’s picture was a clear reminder of. Tony seemed to have no idea of the direction your thoughts were headed, though. He leaned in conspiratorially and bumped your shoulder with his.

“You know, I realize I said you cleaned up nice earlier, but this look suits you more.”

Did he _know_ what that sounded like? Or was flirting just an ingrained behavior for him? You coughed uncomfortably as you adjusted the hat; Tony had pulled it nearly into your eyes. “The schluppy look, as my mom would say. Thanks.”

“Rude. I call it ‘casual cool.’ Maybe it’ll be on the catwalks in Paris this spring.”

“Maybe don’t quit your day job.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” said an entirely new voice. From around the corner appeared a woman, with professionally styled red hair, professional clothing, and professional heels. If you hadn’t been certain to trip over the box of videos, you would have backed away at the sheer sight of her. _There_ was a woman that had her life together. Fortunately for you, she didn’t even seem to see you, so hiding was unnecessary.

Tony twisted toward her with an annoyed sough. “What’s too late?”

“It’s too late for you to get your job back,” she said. “Or at least if you want to keep it and maintain any semblance of sanity, which I hear the board looks for in CEO candidates.”

He didn’t answer, only pursed one corner of his lips. “Why are _you_ here?”

She held up a thick file and widened her eyes. When Tony continued to look disinterested, the woman let out a grumble of her own. “It’s Friday,” she said. “We always go over company details on Friday. Did you forget?”

“I didn’t… _forget_.”

“You just decided to do something else and leave me hanging.”

“ _Precisely_.”

“Great. That’s great. I can see why we’re still friends.” Her smile, strangely, looked both forced and genuine at the same time, even as her eyes fell upon you.

“Oh.” Tony quickly stepped forward. “This is Pepper.”

Pepper’s smile loosened quite a bit when she shook your hand. You could not say the same for _your_ expression. _This_ was Pepper Potts? She looked nothing like Tony’s usual kind of ex-girlfriend, but that didn’t set you more at ease. Ease was difficult when you kept waiting for her eyes to turn hard and an insult to slither from her dark lips. They always acted as though it was _your_ fault that Tony had gone out to “use them and lose them.” Surely Pepper would be the same.

She continued to look polite, even after she released your hand. “And you,” she threw Tony an amused look, “must be [Name].”

You felt yourself pale. “How do you know that?”

“I watch the news... _and_ Tony filled the living room with pictures of you a few weeks ago.”

“You _saw_ that?”

“Yes.” Pepper gave you a curt nod and lifted a single eyebrow in Tony’s direction. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

“ _Really_ something,” you muttered. Finding out yourself had been mortifying enough, but finding out that Tony’s ex-girlfriend had seen it, too? You felt as though you could melt into a puddle and disappear through the crack underneath the front door. Your embarrassment was so distracting that you did not pick up the thread of conversation again until you heard Pepper say:

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Tony and I go way back–though not as far back as he and you, thankfully.”

“She’s an old friend,” Tony added hastily, “ _and_ CEO of Stark Industries.”

“Oh.” You found yourself blinking again. Had your dad mentioned someone else taking over Stark Industries recently? Probably, but more likely than not you had purposely forgotten that detail, too, as you always did when the subject of Tony or his company was brought up. “That’s…nice?”

“Maybe you two will work together some day. You know, when you take over your dad's company.”

Again, your thoughts froze. Your mouth opened slightly, but to say what, you didn’t know. _You_ , run the company, when you were such a giant mess that your father could barely look at you without scowling? Sure, your father taught you about running the company, but you got so hopelessly lost in the details that he despaired of you ever retaining the information. Even if by some miracle you _did_ wind up the head of [L Name] Industries, you wouldn’t be able to work with Tony’s company, not without risking being disowned! What was more, you really, _really_ didn’t want the job.

Then again, what else was there to do? Photography? The idea alone was laughable. You doubted you were any more capable of taking good pictures than you were of constructing weapons technology that would impress your father or boyfriend. Choosing any profession _other_ than the one laid out for you from your birth would send both your parents to an early grave.

Whether it was her years of experience dealing with Tony or just sympathy for the pathetic woman in front of her, Pepper swept Tony’s comment subtly under the rug. “We’ll just cross the bridge when we get there,” she said with another warm smile. “And _you_ –”

“Me, what?” Tony demanded.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I can see you’re busy so I’ll come back some other time. Tomorrow. Seven AM.”

“ _Seven_?”

“If I don’t make you get a kick start, you’ll sleep through the entire weekend,” she said. “We need to go over this before Monday. There have been a few questions about your tower, and now everyone is concerned that you’re behaving yourself because you’re _dead._ I need some sort of proof that I’m not keep your body hidden in one of your suits downstairs.”

“Wow. There’s _really_ no pleasing those people.” He was playing with the hair on the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was slightly nervous.

She pursed her lips together and let out a quiet hum of consent. “I’ll leave you two to whatever it is you’re doing,” Pepper said, walking back the way she'd came. “It’s probably interesting, given what you’re wearing. It was nice meeting you, [Name]. Goodbye!”

You hardly had time to respond with a farewell of your own before she walked around the corner and out of sight in a manner just as professional as her first appearance. Silence rang unbearably loud in the following pause. Tony just stared at the door for a long while after.

“She seems nice,” you hazarded, after almost three minutes had passed. The nearby window framed a sky the color of upturned ink. It must have been nearly ten-thirty. You wondered if there was a point to staying, or if you should just go home. Then again, the party would likely last until one or two, and your absence would not be noticed until sometime around noon the next day when everyone else regained their sobriety. There was, then, equally less point in returning.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed at last; he slipped his hands into his front pockets as turned toward you. “Yeah, she’s…great.”

His voiced caressed the last word wistfully, causing you to frown. You knew it was none of your business, but still you could not help asking, “Why did you break up with her?”

“I didn’t. _She_ broke up with me.”

You only just managed to avoid gaping like an idiot. “That’s a change for you.” Tony nodded. “Why’d she break up with you?”

A derisive snort cracked through the fog of quiet at last. “You of all people shouldn’t need a list of reasons why someone break might up with me.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“She just decided that it was too much. I’m kind of a handful, and now that I’m Iron Man…” He trailed away with a shrug, and the quiet returned full-force. A part of you wished Pepper would return, at least to get Tony back to normal, but even that part of you knew it was a pipe dream. Remembering that he’d been kind enough to get _you_ a cup of tea when you’d had a meltdown, you took a tentative step toward him, arms raised slightly. Tony looked up at you; you dropped your arms and stopped where you stood.

“I’m sorry,” you said. He just kept on looking at you. “We don’t have to go do this tonight, if you don’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“You seem upset about Pepper.”

“So, what? I’m supposed to stay at home and eat a pint of chocolate ice cream instead?” This didn’t sound like too bad plan to _you_ , but Tony said it with enough contempt that you didn’t dare say so. He squinted at you for a second, then smiled widely. “Don’t sweat it. I need to get out. I’m over Pepper.”

“You don’t _look_ over her.”

“I’m getting there. It’s just bad when she springs herself on me.”

“So you _did_ forget!”

That got something like laughter out of him. Tony shoved you gently with his shoulder toward the door. “I went to the party to avoid her. I forgot she’d probably stop by anyway. Why are we talking about me? Tonight is supposed to be about _you_.”

He pulled the door open as the laughter died from your face. His smile died just as quickly as he watched. “Rhodey was right,” you said softly. “You _have_ changed.”

“What, are you two talking behind my back now?”

“Er…”

“It’s okay. I figure the two of you deserve someone sane in your lives. Just don’t have too much fun without me.”

You smiled; Tony smiled. You trudged out the door; he followed while pulling on his own hat. It was only when you heard the muffled jingling of his keys that you realized he must have got the wrong idea.

“We can’t drive there,” you said. It had grown so dark that you could barely see Tony’s face in the limited illumination coming from his front porch. “What would be the point in going disguised?”

“I can get a less conspicuous vehicle,” he offered. 

You just shook your head. “That would defeat the purpose. It’s more about…stumbling onto something.”

“So what you’re saying is that your project is a luck-based mission?” Tony asked. A low whistle the next second provided the context you needed for that comment. Your heart leaped into your throat at the thought him of ditching you there, or thinking you were stupid, or hating the entire premise or–“Lead the way.”

The idea of leading Tony anywhere was almost more frightening than anything else you had done that night. A series of images flashed briefly across your eyes: sitting next to Tony at Justin’s party, leaving the party with Tony, not bursting out the door and running off upon meeting one of Tony’s exes. If you could handle all that, couldn’t you wander aimlessly around Malibu with him? If you actually found something to do for your project this late at night, it would be easy enough to ignore him entirely.

“Okay,” you said with much more confidence than you really felt.

Your several minutes of deliberating might have gone unnoticed for how much Tony remarked upon it. He simply gestured toward the distant gate. You ducked past him, perhaps more speedily than you should have when someone was supposed to follow you. He fell into step with you soon enough. As much as you wanted to say something–anything, actually, so long as it wouldn’t upset him or make him think you dumber than he already did–you held your tongue and allowed the stillness of the air to stifle the thoughts whizzing through your head. The one that finally settled was somehow the worst: _I smell like him._

This should have come as no surprise to you; everything you were wearing, save your undergarments, belonged to him. The scent had long since faded off the sweatshirt Tony had mentioned earlier, along with your feelings for him. At least, that was what you told yourself. Now everything was fresh and new again. You didn’t think you liked it any more than you had all those years ago.

Pepper must have still been fresh in Tony’s mind, because he said very little, except to remark upon the niceness of the evening once or twice, or to ask where in the world you were leading him. Maybe the mystery made him more willing to tag along, since he kept at it even when you refused to answer.

Luckily for him (or maybe both of you), there was a bus stop not too far away from his cliff-side home. You’d memorized the entire city transit system during all of your walks; it took only fifteen minutes for you to get there. Tony showed some apprehension at last when the bus trundled to a halt at your feet. You silently motioned with your head for him to climb on, but Tony only took a step backward. If you stayed much longer, you would upset that bus driver, and you knew from experience _that_ was a bad idea. With your mind already abuzz with questions as to how you were going to get home without him, you entered the vehicle.

No seats were left open at that hour. You were forced to find a pole to cling to as the bus lurched forward with a burst of air. Upon turning around to get a better a grip, you found yourself nose to nose with Tony. He made a face to express his distaste, but otherwise didn’t comment. Maybe he didn’t want to get beat up by the rest of the travelers around you that did _not_ have fancy sports cars to get them where they wanted. If that was the case, he need not have worried. Not one face there looked inclined toward violence. Everyone was too tired.

Especially tired-looking was a woman in a seat right near the door. Her brown eyes were glassy, her thin limbs limp as she tried to keep the child in her lap still. He could not have been older than ten months old. Every so often he let out a loud wail that the mother would attempt to stifle on the shoulder of her work uniform while she shot embarrassed looks at all those seated around her.

What were she and her son doing on a bus so late at night, you wondered, and her still dressed for work? Her hair was coming undone from her tightly drawn bun, so it did not seem as though she was working the night shift. Had she only just picked him up from daycare? Was she escaping something or somewhere?

Unfortunately, none of these questions were ones you could get an answer to. How inconceivably rude it would be to wander over and ask! But she had a story, and your fingers crept toward the camera bag at your hip. When Tony’s eyes flashed toward you, however, you remembered where you were, and hastily let go of the zipper. Whoever she was, she was bound to notice you taking her picture in such close quarters. What if she made a scene? What if you got kicked off the bus?

So you remained motionless for the rest of the twenty minute ride into the city, and so did Tony. The two of you hopped off at the second stop and were followed by several of your fellow bus riders. They paid no attention, only waling around you when you came to a stop to survey your surroundings.

Standing next to the bus stop’s seating area was a man with unkempt facial hair, a thick coat with frayed edges, and a bulging backpack that he’d sat down on the sidewalk. His eyes followed the recently expelled crowd as they made for their next destination. Probably he was waiting for everyone to leave. Soon the buses would stop running for the night, and perhaps he would have a place to lie down. It wasn’t raining, but the roof would still keep him out of the wind.

Tony didn’t seem to notice the gentleman at all. He poked you on the shoulder to get you moving; you turned reluctantly and scuttled across the street. From that angle, you figured that the man by the stop might not notice your presence. You unzipped your camera and pulled it out.

“What are you–” Tony began, but you cut him off with an impatient wave of your hand. You needed to be fast, but you also needed to be efficient. Crouching, you held your camera up to your face and began to adjust the lens. The man was standing just close enough to a streetlight that you wouldn’t need to bother with your flash. He slid in and out of focus, in and out as you tried to find a good place to snap the shot. After several minutes of shifting, you did. You almost forgot that Tony was even there until he interrupted you looking at the results. “Uh…what was that all about?”

“My project,” you answered blankly. Was there a problem all of a sudden?

"Your project is…street photography,” Tony said, but you were too excited then to note the tone of his voice. You were doing what you loved, and Tony Stark could be damned about it.

“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, shoving a lock of hair back underneath your hat and taking several quick steps towards a plaza that was usually full of people this time of day. “Come on, we’re burning moonlight.”

Again, you paid little attention to whether or not Tony was following. You were consumed with the hunt as usual, and wanted to get as much done as you could before the sensation burned out of you, or a call from your parents or Justin doused it entirely. Hurrying forward and into the crowd now bustling around the closing shopping center nearby, you did not see from Tony again until nearly fifteen minutes later.

“You’re… _really_ into this aren’t you?” he asked, as you finished taking a shot of teenage girl smoking at the corner, wearing clothes that looked a bit too used for someone that regularly had a bed to sleep in and flipping off a woman as she passed by pushing a stroller.

“Huh?” you looked up, dazed, hardly hearing. The smoke had obscured the girl’s face too badly, but she and the moment had disappeared. “Oh. Uh…”

“How did you get into photography? I don’t remember you ever being inclined when we were kids.”

“I wasn’t allowed to have inclinations,” you answered without thinking. There was a man sitting with his back against the nearby fountain, a hat sat upside down by his booted feet next to a sign that read “God Bless.” You scampered around so you could get a better view of him. His eyes remained fixed on his feet; no one seemed to notice him as they passed.

How long you ran around with your camera, taking pictures as discreetly as you could and barely giving any thought as to where Tony had got to in this mess, you didn’t know. It didn’t seem like very long before things began clearing out in earnest. There was hardly anything left for you to see when you dug a crumpled ten dollar bill from your camera case, and returned to the gentleman by the fountain. You tossed the money into his hat, and then ran off before he could see. In your haste, you quite nearly ran straight into Tony’s chest. He stopped you just before you did.

“Done?” he asked. Startled, all you did was nod. He startled you even more when he grabbed your hand and drew you over to a bench on the other side of the square. You plunked yourself down onto it and began to scroll through the evening’s work without a second thought. “Can I see?”

You paused for a minute or so to think. Most of your brain raged at the thought. Why should you share something that was so personal, and was in fact the only thing in your life that you _enjoyed_? But then, you reminded yourself, you _had_ dragged Tony all the way out there. And maybe–just maybe–a tiny part of you wanted someone to see and be impressed. Wordlessly, you handed your camera over to him. As you watched, he gingerly took the device and started to go through the pictures himself.

Five minutes later, he handed it back. It felt as though a small current of electricity was running over your skin. Tony had said nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , about what you were doing. Were you terrible at it? Did he think it was stupid? He did not say either of those things when finally he spoke. Instead, he said:

“How’d you get into this, if you’re not allowed to have inclinations?”

“I, uh…” Maybe it was just the sort of strength you found when you were doing what you loved, but suddenly the idea of explaining yourself a bit didn’t seem too terrible. Tony might laugh, but that wouldn’t change the way you felt. You did not ever have to invite him along again after all. You gave a slow shrug. “A few months ago, I found myself with a lot of free time and no one to talk to. Staying at home made me feel worse, so I started taking walks. I started seeing people. I wanted to see them more, so I bought a camera and…”

“And you like it.”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke around the word, and then you felt Tony’s hand on yours again. You were _feeling_ too much, and that was one thing more to feel, and somehow you didn’t think to shake him off.

“I’m glad. You never liked much of anything when we were growing up.”

_I liked you,_ you thought, but did not give the words voice. It was in your best interest to keep that part of your life secret. Tony must already have thought you so pathetic.

“But you said it’s project,” Tony’s voice interrupted your pity party. “I’m not seeing a project here.”

Your thumb rubbed absently against the top of your camera. “I…” You swallowed. “I want to show these pictures. All of these people, they’re as invisible as I am. But they’ve been through so much more and people _should_ see them and hear their stories.”

“Again,” he said, “not seeing what you’re planning here. Is it not a project?”

You squared your shoulders. “I _want_ it to be a project, but I can’t hear their voices. I don’t know their stories either.”

“Why don’t you ask?”

“What if they hate me, too?”

What a stupid question to ask! Why you said that aloud, you would never know. Tony didn’t need to know the extent of your self-loathing; your mother had made you well enough aware of how off-putting it was. When you looked at him, though, he didn’t look surprised or upset. After a shaky breath, you continued, “I’d like to put on a show, like, an art gallery.”

“You should,” he said with a nod at the camera. “What you’ve got there is seriously good. It’s hard to believe you taught yourself in a matter of months.”

You felt your cheeks turn crimson, but brushed it off. Rejecting compliments was as unappealing a behavior as fishing for them; it was best not to respond at all–especially because you were a little pleased and proud that he thought so. You’d never been naturally gifted at anything before. Still:

“My parents would find out then. They’d be so angry. I’d never be allowed out of the house again.”

“But you keep doing it anyway,” Tony said with the ghost of a smirk on his face.

You sat up a little straighter and smiled at your toes. “Yeah. Gotta keep the hope alive or…something.”

“You’re really something, you know that? I mean it.”

The sincerity in his voice was so strange to you that you immediately looked up–and a good thing, too, because Tony was a lot closer to you than he had been and his face was much closer to yours as well. Before you could give much thought to this development, his eyes had shifted to your lips and he was getting closer and closer and–

“What are you doing?” you asked, and moved backward so swiftly that you nearly toppled backward off the bench. Tony saved you just in time by catching you and tugging you upright–though you did not much appreciate the rescue. As soon as you had your balance again, you scooted as far away as you could. He didn’t attempt to close the distance, but he didn’t attempt to _explain_ either, not until it became clear to both of you that you were too freaked out to speak.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Tony asked. You only shook your head, inwardly berating yourself for your inability to speak further. “You’ve never had anyone try to kiss you before?”

Of course he thought _that_ was the problem. Of course it was _you_ , not _him_. Wasn’t that always the case? Unlike Justin, though, Tony didn’t look insulted, just _confused_.

“I’ve never had anyone ask me that before,” he said.

“So, what,” you concentrated very hard to get the note of sarcasm into your voice, “you’re Tony Stark and that means everyone wants you to kiss them?”

“Well...yes.”

You noticed he had slid a bit closer to you again, so you shoved him roughly away, hoping all the while that he wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes. “I am _not_ going to be your rebound girl.”

“Rebound girl?” Tony echoed incredulously. “Because of _Pepper_?”

Something inside you _really_ wanted you to clap your hands over your ears and just tune everything out. But that was a part of you that didn’t exist anymore–or it shouldn’t have, or it should have grown up–or–for heaven’s sake! “You said you still had feelings for her!”

“Well, yeah! Because I was in love with her for _years_! You don’t just…get over that…” He trailed away. You hazarded a furtive glance at him. His eyes were fixed on the water tumbling into the base of the fountain, but they didn’t seem to be looking _at_ it. Then he blinked, hard, and the moment had passed. Tony stretched, placing both his hands behind his head. “You couldn’t understand something like that.”

Oh, yes, you could, more than Tony Stark knew. _He_ had not spent all of his teenage years pining over someone that barely noticed his existence, then got embroiled with him again as an adult. Since you couldn’t exactly tell him that, especially given the circumstances, you said and did nothing until he shrugged.

“But you’re not a rebound,” he continued as he looked at you. “I’m not like that anymore.”

Your eyes widened as he neared again; you had to _do_ something. If you let Tony kiss you, you didn’t know where you would end up, but it probably wouldn’t be anywhere good. Justin knew Tony had come to the party. Once he realized that you weren’t moping in your room, he’d probably put two and two together. Unfortunately, this train of thought didn’t help you with the distraction plan. You blurted out the only thing you could think of:

“I have a boyfriend!”

You flinched away at the exact same time. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything. The drumming in your throat slowed until nearly a minute had passed and you were able to look at Tony again. He looked _distinctly_ uncomfortable, and was once again messing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Whoa,” he said, backing up and allowing the space between you to grow. “Wow. Okay. Talk about misreading the signals. Shit. I’m sorry.”

Incapable of anything resembling English (or a language Tony would recognize, knowing at least four different ones last time you checked), you muttered something along the lines of, “tskay.” Then, nothing, nothing for what _felt_ like a very long time, though was probably only five minutes. You spent that time cursing yourself in your head for saying that, for acting like a child, and for getting yourself into the situation to begin with. In fact, you almost forgot that Tony was still there until he shifted his shoulders and ventured to ask:

“So…who is he?”

You shrugged. He wasn’t getting that one out of you, and Tony knew it. He tried a different route:

“Do you like him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” you answered fiercely, suddenly reminded of that fact that Tony Stark had shouted you out of the funeral of someone you cared about and then left Justin to pick up the pieces. Then again… _Justin_ had completely ignored you tonight. It was _Tony_ that had gone out of his way to keep you in one piece. The fight drained out of you. Every one of your insides felt as though it were tangled up together; you couldn’t tell up from down, right from wrong, or what you were feeling about anything or any _one_.

By then, Tony knew when and where to predict a mood swing. “Is this the part where you stand up really fast and demand I take you home?”

“No,” you said with your eyes resting tiredly on the worn toes of the boots you’d borrowed. “I’m tired. Can we just stay here for a while?”

“We? As in both of us? Even though I just tried to kiss you against your will?”

“I said we’re friends,” you said more tiredly still. “I just need time to think. I’m not going to get that at home with that mess. I can walk home later. You can go if you want.”

“Yeah, leaving a lady outside in the dark in Miami when it’s nearly midnight. Sounds like a _great_ plan.” Your neck snapped up automatically at the sound degradation. Tony very distinctly rolled his eyes. “If I can stay, I’m staying.”

“You can stay. Just…no kissing.”

To add an even greater surprise to the end of your day, Tony laid his hand across the top of one of yours. “No kissing, I promise. Unless, of course, at any point, you change your mind.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Tony bowed his head before he turned attention toward the fountain once more. Though you had expected more of a ribbing–maybe even more _protesting_ that you’d led him on–he didn’t say anything more on the subject. Slowly, you let your eyelids slide shut. You could hear the footsteps of all the shoppers as they passed you. As always, they didn’t even notice you. That night, however, you didn’t mind.

All you wanted was to go somewhere where no one knew your name. No Mom or Dad. No Justin. No Tony. Just you and your thoughts; just your ability to be a nonentity stretched to its fullest extent. Maybe then you could finally get your feelings arranged. Maybe then you could finally get your life worked out.


	10. It's a Classic

Tony’s attempt at kissing you shouldn’t have meant anything. You’d seen him try to kiss plenty of girls with varying (but mostly high) degrees of success for a good chunk of your life. You’d seen him move from one girl to the next in less than a day. You’d seen him make out with one girl right in front of the one he’d slept with the night before. His kisses meant _nothing_ , especially not to you.

But if that was true, you had to wonder why you couldn’t get the moment out of your head. You never went as far as to imagine what would have happened if you’d gone along with the kiss, yet the look on Tony’s face when you rejected him lingered on. At least at home you had an excuse to be distant: Justin was leaving. Everyone chalked your being more distracted than usual up to your worries over what your boyfriend was going to be up to while he was gone, or a simple moroseness at him being gone to begin with. Each member of your family had a different way of dealing with this: your mother chided; your father shouted; and Justin…Well _he_ popped up every so often to do nothing more than pet your hair and kiss you on the cheek. You’d jump and blush every time, which pleased Justin–though it wouldn’t if he knew what _really_ made you react that way.

You didn’t even want to think about what made you react that way. Tony Stark was _not_ the cheek kissing type.

The important thing was that you were allowed to spend an inordinate amount of time in the garage. Your father was up at work quite often suddenly, and he was the only one around that gave a damn what you were up to. Several mornings found you waking up at your desk. It was unusual that people would leave you alone for so long, but not unusual in a way that warranted complaining.

To keep yourself busy, you worked on the project your father had demanded of you. You had no idea what it was supposed to be at this stage of development. Desperation had long since forced you past your blueprints, and now you were adding anything you could think of just to fill the time. One such afternoon, when both your parents and Justin were off doing more interesting things, you were sitting on the floor with your knees drawn to your chest, just staring at your hideously mutated creation, perhaps hoping a flash of inspiration would strike.

Instead, the intercom on your desk blared. You didn’t scream or start that time, but you felt your chest seize around your heart as your head whipped around to stare at the blinking light on the desk. Your mind hastily went through the list of people that would be trying to contact you, but none made much sense. Even Justin had told you not to bother getting ahold of him that morning when you’d passed the kitchen during breakfast.

“Yes?” you said, after standing up and getting close enough to press the intercom’s button.

“Ma’am,” said the unfamiliar rasp of what was likely one of the watchmen, “you have a visitor.”

You looked down at the oily, soot-stained shirt you were wearing. “Is there a reason that Mr. Hammer wants me upstairs?”

“Not Mr. Hammer. It’s–”

“Mr. Stark with a home call for Miss [L Name]?” said an all too familiar voice.

If the thought that your father was around to scream at you some more hadn’t given you a heart attack, Tony _being at your house_ certainly came close. You were out of your chair and up the stairs before you could give any more thought to your disgusting clothing. Tony couldn’t be here! Why did he think he could be here?

You skidded to an unkempt stop in the entrance hall to see him standing there next to a slightly taller man in uniform. The taller man looked distinctly annoyed; Tony, however, just looked amused–and more so when you appeared. Suddenly the room seemed to narrow until it was just the two of you standing there, and not in any romantic sense.

"Why are you here?” you demanded as you walked briskly over to him. 

“You wouldn’t return my calls.” He had slipped his hands in his front pockets and looked for all the world as though him being in your house’s entryway was a common occurrence.

You felt a bit of color rise in your cheeks at the comment, especially given the fact that you’d said you’d stop avoiding him like that–but what else were you supposed to do? Picking up when it was Tony on the other end would only have complicated things more.

Upon seeing the realization dawning on your face, Tony lifted one eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “You gonna tell this plebeian I can come in or what?”

Evidently, the doorman did in fact know what a plebeian was, and unfortunately it was _his_ decision whether or not to let Tony in, not yours. He paused to sneer at Tony before turning to you with a sniff.

“Miss [L Name].” He straightened to his fullest height. “You are aware of your father’s rules. Even if Mr. Stark doesn’t come in, I will have to inform him of his visit.”

“I didn’t realize we were living in a post-apocalyptic dictatorship under Donald [L Name],” Tony quipped.

Meanwhile, your heart had gone stone-cold. Sure, Tony could leave, but that wouldn’t change anything. The doorman had seen enough to guess the sort of relationship you and Tony had, something even _you_ weren’t quite sure about but would certainly upset your father no matter what.

“I’ll give you one hundred dollars if you don’t tell my father,” you said in a rush.

The thought had come to you so quickly that you were more surprised than the doorman to hear the offer. He continued to look unconvinced, at least until Tony stepped forward, clapped one hand on your shoulder, and added, “I’ll give you _two_.”

Three hundred dollars in addition to his usual paycheck must have been convincing enough to get him over even Tony’s past insults. The guard chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes sliding between the two faces in front of him. At last he gave a single nod and thrust both his hands out, palms up.

Hardly daring to believe your luck, you dug the money out of your wallet. You shot off and nearly made it back to the hall before remembering that Tony was still in your house. When you turned back, he remained talking to the other man:

“Actually _don’t_ tell him, and I’ll mail you another two hundred,” he murmured, then began to walk jauntily over to where you stood.

His casual manner through the entire near-crisis caused a flash of anger to momentarily overtake your feelings of fear. Scowling, you whirled about and marched straight back to the garage, where you plopped down right where you’d been sitting prior to Tony’s interruption and proceeded to stare at your project more fruitlessly than ever.

“It’s nice to see you, too, princess,” Tony remarked several minutes later.

He had wandered away from the door, but not by much. You looked at him, somehow still startled by his speaking even though you’d known to begin with that Tony wouldn’t stay quiet. A silent battle waged in your head: Snap, and get more commentary on your flip-flopping behavior toward him, or ignore him and get more commentary on _that_? Had being around Tony _always_ been this annoying? But he already had the attention he had wanted, and now began to walk around the desk area. Suddenly you realized leaving your monster of a creation where a much more talented engineer could see it was a bad idea. Too bad this realization came far too late; he came to a screeching halt in the middle of the floor.

“What is that supposed to be?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly.

Tony shot you a look that seemed to indicate that he was waging his own private war with himself in his head as well. His mouth opened; his expression remained bemused, but then he rolled his eyes and allowed it to past. “So you’ve got your tongue back. That’s good enough, I guess.”

By then, you couldn’t tell if you were more annoyed or elated that he was there in your garage. Elated, you _thought_ , but you didn’t want to encourage him.

“Seriously, Tony. What are you doing here?” you asked, without bothering to stand or offer him a seat or any number of things your mother would expect you to ask of any guest that wasn’t the head of Stark Industries.

“You know, I _am_ capable of telling the truth. You wouldn’t answer my calls.”

“So? I never answer your calls.”

“So I was worried. I try kissing you and then all I get is radio silence for five straight days. I thought you decided you hated me after all.”

You were starting think yourself incapable of hating Tony Stark–something you could kick yourself over, but not in front of him if you didn’t want him thinking you were crazier than he already did.

“Besides,” he added, “I was bored to tears at home with no super villains to defeat and Pepper and Happy busy at work.”

“I am not your speed-dial entertainer,” you said.

“And I’m not your personal escape from your life. It’s a team effort. Like symbiosis.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that my dad says you’re not allowed in here.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, [Name], I’m already _in_. I’m a rebel. I don’t play by the rules.”

“That sounds…ridiculously _Breakfast Club_ -y of you,” you said. First romance novels and now this? Who _was_ this man that had walked back into your life and insisted upon acting like things had always been that way?

“I _might_ have watched the _Breakfast Club_ one too many times lately since I have nothing better to do,” Tony said, “but you’ll never get me to admit it in a court of law.”

“I’m sort of amazed you admitted it now. That’s not much of a Tony Stark movie.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know the _Breakfast Club_ is a classic. Classics are definitely Tony Stark material–as is this _car_ by the way.”

Tony stepped around you and over your project without even a glance at either. His eyes were fixed to a round, vibrantly yellow convertible stationed towards the back–the same one with the mirror that you had checked your appearance in the day he’d ambushed you at Starbucks. It was as though you were invisible, or at least transparent. He remained occupied examining the car’s exterior for several minutes, walking around it in circles and making appreciative sounds every so often. At last he stepped back and spoke:

“What sort of modifications have you done with it?”

“Modifications?” you echoed.

Tony threw you a look. “Yeah, what have you done with the car?”

“Nothing. Dad keeps it down here because I _won’t_ do anything with it.” Or so you assumed. There were other, junkier cars he’d indicated you could-slash-should tinker with (which you didn’t). Things in _your_ garage exploded much less frequently than they did in the one that he and Justin used.

Much to your surprise, Tony looked visibly relieved. “Do you even know what this _is_?”

“Um.” You pursed your lips together. When this didn’t help, you leaned around Tony and narrowed your eyes at the car. “It’s some kind of Porsche.”

“Very good. Glad to know you’re capable of identifying the symbol on the front.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a Porsche 911. Why does your dad have one if he doesn’t race? I didn’t see him at Monaco last year. Probably just so he could say he has one–”

“–and other people don’t,” you finished for him. “If it’s for racing, then these cars get modified all the time. What’s the big deal if I’ve done some tinkering?”

“Because if that,” Tony pointed toward the mass of metal and wires on the floor several feet behind you, “is what you’re doing these days, I’d hate to see what you’d do to this car. Probably turn it into a rocket or something equally–”

But whatever insult Tony was going to end that sentence with, he didn’t get a chance. You had heard whistling through the crack in the door, and it was a whistling you were far too familiar with. No time passed between you catching the tune and you opening the Porsche 911’s door to shove Tony inside. His squawk of protest was cut short when you slammed the door behind you, then spun around.

Your actions came not a millisecond too quickly. No sooner had you wiped all traces of Tony’s presence from the room than did Justin peel the door open just a little wider and stick his head through the gap.

“[Name]?” he crooned.

“I’m here,” you called before wincing. Why couldn’t you have stepped away from the car before saying that? One quick glance behind you showed that the Porsche’s windows were tinted, but that was little comfort. Justin was already inside, walking toward you with arms wide open.

“ _There_ you are! Hey! I’ve been lookin’ all over for you!”

He pulled you into a hug as soon as he reached you. You could only hope your fear at having your visitor discovered wouldn’t show on your face when Justin released you. It became clear shortly that your personal feelings were the furthest thing from his mind. You felt scared stiff; yet when he stepped away, cupped your chin, and searched your face, all Justin’s response was was a chuckle and a quick kiss pressed to the tip of your nose.

“You been here all day?” he asked.

You’d been there for several. “Um…”

Justin was now striding around the room with his thumbs tucked in his pockets. You backed up and pressed your spine into the Porsche's door in the hopes that this would deter Tony from attempting to exit the vehicle and muck things up further. Then Justin came to a stop in front of your…thing.

“Hey, is this what you’re doing for your dad?” You offered a very hesitant nod. He clapped and grinned widely. “Looking good! Much better than that missile defense system you were working on last month.”

He didn’t notice you standing still half-splayed across the side of the car, not even when he neared you again. You shrunk away from him as he paused to regard you once more. Then, while you were still too distracted to so much as _think_ of moving, Justin grabbed your hand to yank you forward. You found yourself spun once as though in some mockery of a dance, then blinking up at Justin’s face. Again he laughed and kissed you.

That was about enough of that. The blush on your face as you struggled to your feet had nothing to do with Justin’s sudden romanticism and everything to do with the fact that _Tony Stark was in the garage_. Still, you forced a chuckle that was more air than substance in an effort to keep your boyfriend from noticing.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, once you could be reasonably sure that your voice wouldn’t crack and give you away. “I thought you said that you’d be busy all day.”

“Not _all_ day. I just had to finish supervising the packing. It’s done. I’m off. I wanted to see you one last time before I left.”

“You’re…You’re leaving?”

“Yes indeed! But don’t look too blue, [Name].” He ruffled your hair. “I’ll be back before you know it. I’ve got a lot to do _here_ now, too! Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have your little project finished and we can look into getting it into production.”

“M–Maybe.” Apparently Justin had no idea that your project was a useless tangle of machinery. Sometimes you forgot that he was nearly as useless as you were when it came to this sort of thing.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, are you going to give me a kiss goodbye?”

He’d already given you two goodbye kisses, but who were you to argue? With legs so near to shaking that you half-expected them to send you toppling to the ground, you walked up to him. You could not muster up the enthusiasm to throw your hands behind his neck. Justin, being Justin, took the initiative in deepening the kiss. Fortunately, you were already on such an emotional buzz that this hardly fazed you. You barely realized it was over before he nudged your shoulder with his.

“Be a good girl while I’m gone? Your dad’ll tell me if you’re not!”

You nodded dazedly, felt his hand squeeze yours, and then he was at the door.

“Bye, [Name]! Call you when I get there!”

Something in you had snapped: not anything emotional, but something that controlled your thought process. Numb blankness settled over you; you were left staring after Justin in the same position he had left you–until, that is, something behind you <i>thunk</i>ed.

“Tony!” you gasped, spinning about. You fumbled with the handle for a minute. Opening the door revealed him curled into the far seat.

He blinked at your sudden reappearance. “Finally remembered me, have you?”

That woke you up a bit. You stepped away as you crossed your arms over your chest. You knew what was coming next, and you didn’t want to hear it. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, no.” Tony clambered out of the car. “Is _that_ what you meant when you said you had a boyfriend?”

“My love life is _none_ of your business.”

“Please tell me you are having an affair,” he pleaded.

You glowered stonily up at him, and snorted. Without waiting for further cause, you walked over to the cabinets you kept your gear in and started to loudly and violently pull them out.

Tony did not take this as a dismissal. “I can’t believe you married _Justin Hammer_!”

“Do you _see_ a ring on my finger?” you demanded. Embarrassment ran hot and fast through your veins. You’d tried so hard to make sure Tony wouldn’t find out. You had known from the beginning how much he wouldn’t like the truth. But the truth was the truth whether _he_ liked it or not, and if he wasn’t careful, he was about to hear it.

“Why would you want to _advertise_ your connection to that idiot?”

“I’m not married to him!” You stood so quickly that even Tony looked taken aback. “And if I was, it would still be none of your business! _You_ stopped talking to me for _years_. He didn’t! Didn’t you realize you were the only friend I _had_? But you’re Tony Stark! You didn’t give a damn because I’m just a fun little plaything, a distraction. I’m not going to do that again, Tony. I’m just _not_.”

Your voice grew quieter as your rant ended; you felt your heart flutter faint but full of pain inside your chest. None of that should have ever been said. As you watched, Tony’s brow crinkled with surprised and then confusion. Then he opened his mouth. Suddenly you found that you didn’t want to hear it. You shoved past him without another word.

“Woah, where are you going?” Tony called after you.

“Out!” you said. “And you’re coming, too! I’m not leaving until I see you driving away in your own car!”

For some reason, he did exactly as you said.

For some reason, you let him.

******

_Stupid_. That was the word that kept coming to the forefront of Tony’s mind: Stupid. Everything was stupid. Justin _Hammer_ dating you. You _letting_ Justin date you. Tony deciding to say something about it. His own inability to be alone for extended periods of time now that Happy and Pepper and Rhodey were so frequently preoccupied. But mostly the part where Justin was dating you.

Still, Tony knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He could read you well enough–despite you saying otherwise–that he could tell when you nearing another breakdown. When you’d got so bad that those happened like that, he had no idea, but now that he knew who you were dating, he had a better understanding of _why_ they happened like that. Pushing your buttons had been the wrong thing to do. But could you blame him? Justin was such a weasel. How could you just go and–

No. No, Tony was not going down that thought path, not while he was trying to find you so he could _apologize_. If he kept thinking about how frustratingly idiotic it was for you to sleep with Justin Hammer, he’d probably blurt it out and ruin things all over again.

And…there he went _again_. Tony allowed himself to cover his eyes with one hand as his car idled at a stoplight. Operation: Get [Name] To Like Him was not going particularly well. First he’d screwed up with that kiss (no matter that you looked pretty, all dressed down like that with the excitement of doing something you actually _liked_ coloring your features) and then he’d had to go and run his mouth like he _always_ did. You should have been used to it; you’d known Tony for so long. But then, wasn’t he trying to convince you that he wasn’t the person you’d known anymore?

Someone honked. Tony started. He had been so engaged with his own thoughts that he hadn’t seen the light change. With a wave, he pulled farther, though not without thinking that whoever it was behind him wouldn’t have honked like that if he’d known who was driving the Audi.

Back to the matter at hand: He had no idea where to find you. As far as he could tell, your photography took you wherever your feet did, and that might not be a place a car could follow. He’d left when you told him to because he’d been too shocked by your tirade to protest. Well, that, and he didn’t think arguing would earn him any points when he hadn’t had any idea at the time of what to say to make things better.

To be honest, he hadn’t managed to think of anything better since. “Sorry” was the only thing that came to mind, and that had never had much effect on its own when used on Pepper. Not that you were Pepper (and Tony was starting to think that was a good thing, somehow) but he suspected that you’d want a bit more than “Sorry, I am a bit of an ass. You’ll just have to learn to deal,” as well. But he had to begin somewhere, and for all he knew, you wouldn’t even let him get that far.

At last, he made it to the park he’d picked you up a few weeks back. Several children cavorted about his legs as he made his way toward the pond. Several others shrieked as they attempted to run away from a flock of ill-tempered geese. Tony only cared about their playing as long as it took him to avoid running into any of the kids. He was more intent on picking figures out of the crowd. If you weren’t here, he’d have to admit defeat and go home. If that happened, he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance to talk to you.

When he’d wandered about halfway around the park (feigning aimlessness the entire time), Tony finally spotted you. You were seated on a bench alone, with your camera sitting on your lap. Your fingers tapped against it once or twice, but all you did was stare at the gathering of ducks across the path. Tony thought you must not have noticed him, but as soon as he sat down, you said:

“If you’ve come to make me feel worse, you can just go away.”

“Actually, I came to apologize,” he said without missing a beat.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yes, you do.” You refused to look at Tony, which rankled a bit. “[Name], when I told you I came by because I was worried, I wasn’t exactly _lying_ , but I admit to having an ulterior motive.”

“Then I _definitely_ don’t want to know what it was. Not after–”

“I thought of what you could do,” Tony interrupted. “With your pictures. In a way that won’t get back to your parents _or_ your…‘boyfriend.’”

He had to swallow before he could get the word out. Still you noticed the air quotation marks around the words. Tony decided to pretend he hadn’t himself. Your chest lifted with a deep breath; when you spoke, your voice remained impressively calm. “In exchange for what?”

Originally? There hadn’t been a catch. Tony wasn’t _that_ desperate. But the image of _Justin Hammer_ first kissing you like a child, then driving his tongue down your throat while you tried to pull away was burned into his retinas. Without his knowledge, a plan had been forming, and now it slipped out as easily as if it had been there all along: “You let me take you out on _one_ date.”

“I _have_ a boyfriend. You _saw_ him.”

“Oh, come on!” Tony's irritation broke free again in spite of his best efforts. “Like that guy could ever show you a good time. He definitely wasn’t showing you one a couple hours ago.”

“How do you know?” you asked fiercely.

“Because I know _Justin_. I’ve known him longer than you have, and probably better. Well, better realistically. I’ve never had him insi–”

“If you finish that sentence,” your voice became colder than Tony had ever heard it, “I will leave and burn everything that reminds me of you like I should have done after your dad’s funeral.”

He wanted to retort. What, had your parents turned you into a mindless obedient zombie while Tony was away? They'd always preferred Justin to Tony, but Tony had always got the feeling you felt the opposite way. Yet here you were, dating _Justin_ instead of him. He forced himself to also take a deep breath. “Look, your boyfriend is gone, and he’s going to be gone for a month at a least. Let me take you on _one_ date. We’ll do things right. I’ll come pick you up. We can do pizza and a movie at my place.” This didn’t sound terribly romantic to Tony, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t want to risk being seen out in public with him, especially not doing anything that would make the two of you appear as anything more than distant acquaintances. “I’ll keep my promise, even. No kissing unless you say you want kissing.”

For a moment, you appeared to dither, opening your mouth a few times only to clamp it shut once more. Then: “I couldn’t do that to Justin.”

“Why not?” Tony half-rose from the bench.

“Because he likes me!” your voice rang out even above the clamor. A few people nearby fell silent and looked warily over. Tony’s eyes darted around, but you must have noticed as well, because your next words were much quieter: “He likes me. You never did.”

“Neither of those is true, especially the first bit. Justin is only dating you so his company and yours will merge into one big enough to squash out mine.”

“How do you know?” Your voice rose again.

Tony allowed his to do the same. “Because he used to talk about it _all the time_ when we were kids–how it was a good thing you were so pretty but unpopular, so it wouldn’t be too much of an issue to get inside your pants!”

First you went pale, then you went red and leaped to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me this then?” you asked, voice strangled.

He exhaled and combed his fingers through the front of his hair. “Thank goodness you believe me.”

“I _don’t._ If that was all he was around for, he would have dumped me years ago! Justin I have been dating for _years_ , and our companies still haven’t merged.”

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but that’s exactly what _has_ happened. That little ‘announcement’ from your beau’s party? It’s that he’s going back to Queens to iron out the merger. When your dad dies, Justin Hammer is effectively CEO of whatever inane name he and your dad come up with.”

He saw your arms shaking. For all your protests, you seemed to believe Tony after all. “Then why doesn’t he just dump me? Why did he come to say goodbye? Why does he care if I’m good while he’s gone?”

“I think you’ve already got that answer.”

Quickly, you paced away from Tony, then back. Your face was as white as the puffy clouds floating through the sky, but your expression was even angrier than before. “Maybe it’s because _he_ actually likes me, whereas _you’re_ just jealous you lost to him at something.”

“Oh, if there’s one person I don’t lose to, it’s Justin Hammer. But I’m not jealous. ‘Annoyed’ would probably be better word–annoyed that he’s being an asshole like always and you refuse to see it.”

“I don’t see how you’re supposed to be any better. You–”

“I’m not the kind of person anymore. You, on the other hand, are doing a pretty good impression of the spoiled little princess I always thought you were.”

“I’ve never been a princess! At least your dad talked to you! At least he was proud of your achievements!”

“Yeah? Well, my dad only talked to me when I made those achievements, but it sure is nice to know after all this time you’re still making him out to be some sort of saint! You even came to his funeral to rub it in that you were the last person he talked to before he _died_!”

“I didn’t do that on purpose and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“I didn’t even want to go, okay? I only went because your dad asked me to tell you something! You’d already made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to see me ever again _before_ the car crash. Do you really still think I wanted to make things _harder_ on myself? If I hadn’t gone, maybe…maybe…”

You fell silent, clearly trying to hold back the tears that you couldn’t cry in public. Most of the onlookers had hurried off when the shouting really started. Probably they didn’t want to be witnesses of whatever violence was about to occur, but they misread the signs. You sank back on to the bench with your face still dry and your camera still clenched between your hands. After watching for a moment, Tony sat down, too.

“I know,” he said finally. “I didn’t talk to you for a really long time, and I told you to leave Dad’s funeral, and I made a big deal out of it in public. I took so long to talk to you again that I sort of forgot you existed. And that sucks. I’m sorry.”

You blinked away the tears that had started to form in your eyes. “What?”

“I came out here to apologize. Like I said, I’m not _that_ big of an asshole anymore. That’s why I keep hanging around you being an asshole. To prove that I’ve changed.”

“You want to prove you’re not an asshole...by being an asshole?”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “No. Okay, look. I’m still a jerk, but not in the same way, and everyone makes a pretty big deal about it–except you, and that’s probably because I was a pretty big jerk to you when we were kids.”

“No. I mean…You were my best friend.”

“But I was still a jerk. So listen to my really great plan, and then you can decide whether it’s worth spending more time with me. Deal?”

After a few seconds of consideration, you nodded.

“You can’t put on art show. But I can.”

Tony grinned, waiting for you to leap up and thank him for his brilliance. You didn’t. Rather, you frowned. “That seems pretty obvious to me.”

“No, _listen_. You get your pictures ready, we make an art show out of them, but keep your name out of the proceedings. I’ll say the artist is anonymous. Your photographs aren’t of people that know you, so no one will be able to figure it out!”

“Uh…huh.”

“I get all the glory for being a philanthropist. You get to continue doing something you like doing, with the added benefit of helping people like you want.” His eyebrows lifted. The excitement that he expected never came. You bit your lip for a long moment.

“I guess…we could try.”

“Try enough that you’ll go on that date?”

You snorted, but were clearly too tired from all the emotional upheaval of your day to protest further, because you didn’t argue. You just started to pack your camera things away. “Why do you want to go out with me so bad anyway?”

“I don’t.” Your head snapped up at that; you peered up at him suspiciously. Tony shrugged. “I’m bored, and you need someone to show you that life can be better when you aren’t living with he-who-must-not-be-named–who in this case is _not_ Voldemort, at least in name and appearance.”

“If I agree, will you stop insulting him?”

“Absolutely not.”

A tired sigh slipped from between your lips. Tony saw your eyes roving about his face for nearly a minute before you tried again: “If I agree, do you promise it will only be _one_ date?”

“Sure,” Tony answered. “If you hate it that much, you don’t ever have to see me again if you don’t want to. Or if I don’t want to. There’s an equal possibility that _I’ll_ be the one that has a miserable time.”

You shook your head as you stood. “You are _incredibly_ annoying,” you said, then continued after a brief pause, “but you’ve always been like that, and I liked you anyway. Fine. _One_ date.”

“Promise? I won’t show up to find you AWOL?”

“It’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve done lately, which is saying something. But, yes, I promise.”

“Excellent. You won’t regret it. No one ever has.” Tony grinned at you lifting your eyes heavenward, and plucked your equipment off the chair. “Do you need a ride home? Pretty sure the rest of your family is off having dinner with the governor.”

“Actually, that’d be really nice. But you can’t come in.”

“Yeah, we should probably save that for the main event.”

You shoved him–but Tony got the feeling it was more in jest than anything else. Though it may have disappeared in a matter of nanoseconds, he knew he caught a smile. They didn’t come often from you, and he was beginning to like that. He didn’t need to make you smile _all_ the time. Once was meaningful, especially when it was because of him. As the two of you headed toward his car, he lifted his fist into the air. Another smile told him you got the reference.


	11. Not Fussed About It

The darkness had never been more your friend than in the moment you had to contemplate leaving it to step inside Tony’s well-lit home. Darkness hid your face and your feelings and your nerves over just about everything: your stupid hair that you’d half-tried to make nice before giving up and going back to normal; your stupid trying-too-hard clothes; your stupid fists shaking at your sides. You could still get out of this. You could still go home. If Tony refused to drive you, you could walk. You’d done so a thousand times before and even several miles in _these_ heels seemed more appealing than whatever was waiting for you past his expectant face and the now-open door.

Days of planning, of lying to your parents, of alternately bursting with joy and trying not to vomit could not be ignored. The deep breath you sucked in did not come out, leaving your shoulders hunched ludicrously around your ears–but step inside you did. As nervous as you were, your mind was playing tricks on you. You heard Tony sigh with some relief as he followed you in to shut the door. What else could be that be but your imagination?

“Welcome home, Mr. Stark.”

Again you jumped, then felt Tony’s hand reach out to steady you. “It’s just–”

“I know,” you said, surprised to find your voice so normal. “Just JARVIS.”

Even with the odd angle of Tony’s face above yours and your head twisted up toward him, it appeared to you that Tony was trying to assess your panic. His eyes narrowed slightly, anyway. It was easier to interpret that as worried rather than disgusted by the way your hair looked. Suddenly you could remember the hairstyle of every girl he’d ever dated when you'd been growing up. Turning pink, you lifted a hand to pick at your own sloppy attempt at a style just as his released you to turn toward the doors to your right.

“Right,” he said without looking at you. “I’m going to check on the pizza. Make yourself at home.”

“Welcome home, Miss [L Name],” said JARVIS.

“Not what I meant, Jar!”

“I know, sir.”

You peered after Tony long after his footsteps had faded down the hall. _Make yourself at home_. Right. Like _that_ was possible. Your mouth half-opened to ask JARVIS where you ought to direct yourself–until you realized how stupid that would make you sound. As often as you’d been around this house lately, you could at least find your way to the living room and the garage. A few tentative steps took you in that direction, but soon you realized you were frozen to the spot still in the entryway. What if the garage wasn’t where Tony wanted you to go? If you wound up somewhere you weren’t supposed to be–well, you’d had more than your fill of Stark family secrets over the years. Looking nervously up as though JARVIS was about to demand to know where you were going, you began to inch backward toward the hallway Tony had exited through. Only once you’d gotten that far without any questioning did you turn to trot the rest of the way to whatever room it really was that he had left for.

It turned out to be, just as Tony had implied, the kitchen. The room was much larger and spacious than you had expected; your footsteps seemed to echo against the floors and high ceiling. Maybe that was just your hyper-self-awareness kicking your imagination into overdrive, though. Clearly the kitchen was made to fit a team of cooks, but it looked so clean and new that you doubted that much of anyone used it for cooking at all. Only Tony was there right now, and he was only standing at the counter near the oven, staring straight at you. Maybe the footsteps hadn’t been your imagination after all.

“Thought I said you could make yourself at home,” he said, breaking off eye contact to cut slices into the pizza, much to your relief. Not being watched for signs of whatever it was you were so afraid of made you brave enough to close the gap between the two of you. Your obvious silence soon had him looking up again.

“You left the house with the oven running?” you said to avoid answering him outright.

Tony rolled his eyes. “JARVIS was here. I’ve left much worse running in my absence, you know.”

“Jarvis knows, too.”

“He’s not the same Jarvis.” Tony lifted a stern finger. “And you’re not the one who’s supposed to open up the uncomfortable proceedings. That’s _my_ job.”

Tony meant it in jest. You _knew_ he meant it in jest. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop you from ducking your head to stare at your interlocked fingers. “Thought it'd be nice, for a change of pace,” came out only as a mumble. Another few seconds of following quiet made you peek up just in time to see Tony roll his eyes again and lift two plates laden with pizza slices into the air.

“Would you lighten up?” he demanded as he began to stride back the way he’d come. “It’s a _date_. Do you normally act like you’re being led off to the gallows on a first date with a guy? Grab us some Cokes out of that freezer there.”

Though you frowned, you still bent to do as directed. It beat reminding Tony that you had not been out on a lot of first dates. You licked your lips as you straightened with one glass bottle in each hand. “Coke?” you asked with a quirked eyebrow. “Not a pizza and beer kind of guy anymore?”

“Alcohol and I have a sordid past. We’re trying to see other people.” He gestured toward the hall with his head. “Another great topic of conversation, by the way. I don’t suppose you have any substance abuse issues I could relate to?”

“Afraid not.”

“Damn.” Apparently assuming you were perfectly content to follow in his wake, Tony turned to lead the way toward the living room. Fortunately for him, he was right. You still weren’t sure if your willingness to follow was fortunate for _you._ “Well, we had better find something else to talk about, then.”

“You have _rules_ about first date topics of conversation?”

“Don’t you?” He paused long enough to give you a contemplative look before heading down the stairs to his garage. “Rule #1: No talking about how much the house costs. Rule #2: No talking about histories of substance abuse. Rule #3: No talking about how I pee in the suit.”

That last bit had you pausing yourself. “Why would anyone ask you how you pee in your armor?”

While waiting for the garage door to unlock, Tony turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. “You’d be surprised how attractive some women find it, until I actually _do_ the deed.” He waited only long enough to see you through the door himself before he collapsed on one of the nearby couches someone (probably him, seeing as he didn’t seem likely to ask Pepper to do manual labor these days) had dragged downstairs. “I hope you’re not expecting your own personal demonstration.”

Again, you thought to yourself that you could leave. No one at home would be watching for your return. Your father had a big dinner planned with some business associates; at the same time, your mother had a big night planned with whoever she was seeing this particular week. Even if either of them were home, they’d be in no condition to harass you over where you’d been all night–if the security staff even bothered telling them you’d been out. Of course, this also meant that Tony could easily murder you and avoid scrutiny. Somehow, winding up dead was the _least_ of your worries.

“Could you please just sit down?” Tony said, head lolling towards you on his shoulders. “You’re making me nervous.”

The smile you cracked felt as brittle as ice, but you sat down on the chair pulled up next to the couch he’d dragged down there.

“ _I’m_ making _you_ nervous?” At least this time you managed a little more decorum than when you’d freaked out over ruining his latest Iron Man project. Once you settled, Tony handed over one of the plates of pizza and waited until you filled his empty hand with a Coke. Without so much as thank you, he cracked the top open, then gulped nearly half the bottle down.

“Nervous enough that you’re making wish I had some beer hidden somewhere around here right about now,” he said, before he picked up the top slice of his pizza and bit in like being fresh out of the four-hundred degree oven was nothing.

Who knew? Maybe he’d developed superpowers over the course of the past few years, too–heat resistance or something. Enough had changed that you wouldn’t have been surprised. You glanced at the first slice of pizza sitting atop a piece of wax paper on your plate, shifting it away from you as casually as you could. Suddenly you weren’t sure that you could stomach eating. Tony was occupied with doing so for several more minutes. Your dress shoes tapping out a few nervous seconds had him distracted soon enough.

“What’s up?” he asked. “If you don’t like pizza, you probably should have said so _before_ we left the kitchen.”

“Pizza is fine. My mouth isn’t super-human like yours, that’s all.”

He smirked at that, and you felt your heart flip in response. All you could do to hide it was to frown as Tony said, “Well, that might be up for debate. Depends on who you ask. Obviously _I_ couldn’t say since I haven’t had the opportunity to check myself, but if you’d like a second–”

“What’s next?” You _had_ to interrupt. You _had_ to. You could already feel your muscles tensing. Tonight was one night that you didn’t want to be thinking about Tony kissing you. Him going on about it wasn’t helping further your objective. 

He looked flummoxed for all of ten seconds, then: “Right.” He put the plate down, licking his lips. “I forget you haven’t done a lot of this.”

Your muscles tensed further. Last time you had visited, you hadn’t felt the usual tenseness that came along with crashing in Tony’s garage, but you felt it now. There was an insult hidden in his casual statement. “Haven’t done a lot of what?” you asked suspiciously.

“Dating,” was the expected reply.

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounded stupidly high. Unfortunately, that didn’t change much when you added, “Need I remind you that I have a boyfriend?”

Tony’s only answer to that was an exaggerated eye roll. “Yeah, I bet that one’s _real_ romantic,” he said as he grabbed for the glass soda bottle on the low table in front of him. “What Justin Hammer wouldn’t do for you. Let’s see, what’s a romantic evening at home like for the two of you? Do you two _cuddle_ and look deep into each other’s eyes? Or does he take you to bed and have his way with you until he’s had enough?”

What you did in bed with Justin–What you did in bed with anyone for that matter–was not any business of Tony’s. You were well aware of this, but you still found yourself looking away to glare at the wall opposite him to answer, “You have no idea what we do.”

“I can make a pretty good guess. Remember, darling, I was stuck in the car while he said his little goodbye to you. I’ve known enough men in my day to know what kind of man your beau is, and–”

“I’m _not_ asking about your opinion on my love life, Tony,” you snapped, forcing yourself to look at him even though doing so made your arms tremble at your sides. “I’m asking what _we’re_ going to do. You told me you’d show me a good time.”

“Did I? And are you not having one? I, for one, am having quite the pleasant evening.”

Your deadpan stare made sure you did not have to actually _say_ whether or not you were having a good time. You didn’t dare bring up any of Tony’s old exes, and for all you could tell, Pepper Potts was a lovely woman. It would be hard to turn the tables and make _him_ miserable about his dating history. He sighed, waving his bottle at the ceiling.

“We watch a movie,” he said, “or…”

“Or…”

“Or we could talk.”

“Talk,” you repeated. He nodded. Because that was going _so_ great right now. “About _what_?”

Tony took another swig of Coke. “You. Me. Us. The air-speed velocity of unladen swallows. I’m not fussed about it.”

“Is that all you’ve been doing lately? Watching old movies?”

“And working on the Mk. VII. And pestering you. We all have our own ways of getting over getting dumped.”

“Yours just _had_ to involve sending me to an early grave.” You fell against the back of your chair to stare at the projector screen in front of you. You had only been at Tony’s for maybe thirty minutes, but already you felt like you needed to sleep for a month and a half to make up the lost energy. Then again, when didn’t you feel like that these days? “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I could say something here,” Tony said around yet another mouthful of food. You wondered if he treated his girlfriends to such behavior–but then, you weren’t a girlfriend. Just a friend, if that. Swallowing, he went on, “but I don’t want to be a jackass.”

_That_ you had to laugh at, but at least laughing cleared your throat enough to let you dig into your own plate of food. “You? A jackass? Perish the thought.”

“I thought you _liked_ jackasses, honey.”

His grin flashed again at you through the garage’s dim lighting. Fighting yet another blush down, you stared at your plate to pick up a second slice. Now that you were eating, you found the process a welcome distraction from staring at Tony. Too much of that and he would probably notice. This was a fine idea, until he had to ruin it by speaking up again:

“Otherwise, how do you explain Justin–or my dad, for that matter?”

The pizza slipped right from between your trembling fingers. A strange sort of buzzing had started up in your head, which meant that you surprised yourself when you were able to wrench your gaze up to meet Tony’s. He didn’t look upset, but he didn’t look cheerful anymore either.

“What?” you asked, voice scratchy. Why did you always have to look like such an idiot? Oh, right: because you _were_ an idiot.

“You don’t have to pretend. Everyone was pretty crazy about my old man. Wasn’t really much of a surprise to find out _you_ were obsessed with him, too.”

You knew you were crazy still, because there was no other reason that you would hear what you thought you were hearing from Tony. Your hands squeezed at your knees. “I didn’t know that you noticed.”

Tony snorted. “Who wouldn’t notice? Following him around like a puppy, hanging on his words, kept–”

“What do you think I was doing with your father?”

“Doing?” Tony paused; you could almost see the gears churning in his brain. Finally, he shrugged. “Nothing. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to be doing something, and it’s not like he’d have had any qualms taking advantage of someone like you.”

“He was _married_!”

“That wouldn’t stop him.”

That was it. Why were you bothering with this charade? But you had already lost so much in throwing tantrums and storming away. _Someone like you_ said pretty clearly what Tony thought: that you were some weak-willed, soppy little thing obsessed with attention. The worst part was knowing he was right–though you wanted to prove him wrong all the same. A deep breath attempted to steady the feeling of burning in your lungs. “I _never_ slept with your father.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tony said. “What did he talk to you about?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I meant when he died. He asked to talk to you. What’d he say?”

The hospital room came back to you as clearly as the day you stepped into it. You hadn’t talked to Tony Stark in years, hadn’t seen Howard Stark except from across the room at certain fancy dinners your dad dragged you to. Out of the blue, there’d come a phone call from the hospital, saying Howard Stark needed to talk to [F Name] [L Name], and he wasn’t going to last much longer, how soon could she get there? You’d run off without really thinking about it until you’d rode home later shaking to pieces.

There in the here and now you heard yourself saying, “It wasn’t me he wanted to talk to.”

This piece of information was not willingly given. It was your last real secret. For years people had speculated what _you_ had to do with Tony’s father; what _you_ had been doing in that hospital room; what _he_ had thought it had been so important to say. You had kept your head up high and ignored it as best you could, and now here you were, just _giving_ it to the most ungrateful person you knew.

Tony slowly put his last slice of pizza down. “What do you mean, he didn’t want to talk to you?”

“He wanted to talk to you,” you said, spitting the words out as you met his eye. You had endured the shame this long, and it was his fault. Really, everything was. “He wanted to talk to you. _You_ didn’t answer. So he asked me to come because he thought I could make you see reason.”

Tony’s hands were white and stiff around his grease-stained plate. His brown eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you want to go hide in your bed all over again. “What did he want me to see reason about?” You shook your head. “[Name].”

It was the softness that did it. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t–You don’t _know_? Did he not tell you anything? Because you said–”

“I didn’t understand it,” you snapped. This cost you quite a bit to admit, too: that you had wasted Howard Stark’s dying breath.

“Was it about you?”

“No.”

But that split second of hesitation before your answer was enough. “You’re lying,” Tony said. Yes, even Tony knew what a bad liar you were now. But no, the things Howard Stark had said about _you_ were understandable, and not at all anything you wanted to share with Tony.

“HYDRA!” you burst out.

Tony paused. Too late, you realized you’d given him exactly what he wanted trying to avoid telling him what you _didn’t_ want to. “Huh?”

“I-I don’t know. He said they were inside. That they’d done it, and you had to warn them.”

“Warn who?”

“You mean…you don’t know?”

“I’ve heard of HYDRA,” Tony said. “They were pretty big in WWII, but that’s also when they stopped existing. Dad spent years trying to find the guy that did it. That was some wreck Dad had. He was probably delirious.”

“He seemed sane to me. It was so important to him. I wanted to tell you, but you wouldn’t answer my calls. And then at the funeral–” Just then, you realized you were shaking. Your plate was rattling against your knees. Again. It was happening _again_. Something had set you off, so you were going to embarrass yourself by bursting into tears right front of someone you very much admired, no matter how much you tried not to.

And that someone knew. Tony’s expression became unreadable just before he rose, set his plate on the cushion next to his, and went to perch on the side of your chair. “Hey,” he said, sounding _slightly_ less alarmed than last time. “Hey, uh…” His hand hovered above your shoulder for a few seconds before finally coming down and squeezing. For once, you didn’t flinch away. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you said into your hands. “I promised him I would tell you and I didn’t! I promised!”

“[Name], it was my fault.” You shook your head with your face still buried in your fingers. “Let’s be honest here, Dad probably knew I’d pitch a fit as soon as I saw you. Come on. You don’t gotta cry about it. Alright? Promise me.”

“I’m not any good at promises.”

“Right. Forgot what we were talking about. Bad choice of words. [Name],” Tony said again, seriously, “Dad’s long gone. And whatever he was saying probably didn’t have anything to do with me, and it definitely didn’t have anything to do with you. Even if it did, I mean, no one’s died over it, have they?”

“Your parents did.”

The hand on your shoulder contracted and froze. “What was that?”

“Your parents did! That’s what your dad said, that HYDRA got in and they knew he knew, and they had to wipe him out. He told me to be careful, and to make sure you were careful, too, once I told you.”

There were a few moments of silence during which you could only hear Tony breathing next to you. “And were you?” he finally asked.

“Was I what?”

“Careful.”

You thought about it. After Tony had shouted you out of the funeral, and Rhodey had tried to comfort you outside, and your father had come up and dragged you away, had you really changed anything? You’d gone home and destroyed most of the evidence that you had ever been somewhat friendly with Tony Stark at all–but that had been because of your feelings, not because of any danger seen or imagined by Howard. 

“N-No,” you stammered, because this was only further proof of faithlessness on your part to the one adult that had ever had a kind word for you growing up.

“Then there wasn’t anything to worry about, was there?” Tony said, clapping you on the back. When you did not suddenly rise to your feet with joy, the hand returned to rub slow circles there. “You know, this is usually the part where I start kissing the pretty girl to calm her down a bit.”

A burbled sort of laugh erupted from your chest. “Nice try,” you said, now rubbing at your eyes. You had never really started crying in earnest, but there was still a bit of moisture there that you wanted to be rid of before Tony got much closer. When you finally looked over at him, you realized it was far too late to be worried about that.

“I’m serious,” he said, and he looked like it.

“You think I’m pretty?” The words came out before you could stop them; you almost wanted to bury your face in your hands again. Somehow you resisted, and you were glad that you did since Tony’s reaction was a simple blink.

“Well. Yeah,” he said as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. “But in my opinion, it’s always nicer to _show_ someone I think they’re pretty then to just tell them. With my lips. And other applicable body parts.”

That sounded like Tony. Saying you were pretty much less so. You smiled and rubbed at the skin right below your eye, just in case you had cried and hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, everything was still dry–and he was still close. _Too_ close. It was at that moment that you realized with a thrill that rang through your limbs that he was _serious._ Your body stiffened without you telling it to. Really, though, that was the proper reaction.

“Thought you said you just asked me out because you were bored.”

“I am. Have you ever actually _had_ sex? That ain’t boring, princess.”

“I have a boyfriend. And you don’t like me.”

“Who ever said I didn’t like you?” he demanded.

“You did. Years ago. That’s why we never talked. Not even before your dad died.”

Tony nodded. For once, he looked a little defeated. This only lasted half a second, before he looked back at you. “Why does that have to matter?”

“ _What_?”

“Why does either one have to matter? Who cares if you have a boyfriend? You’re a grown woman. Are the two of you exclusive? Because the amount of times I have walked in to some room during a convention and found Justin in a provocative position with some reporter or another would indicate _no_.”

Your stomach dropped at this information. For once, Tony was right: What _did_ it matter? Justin sleeping with newswomen and reporters and convention heads wasn’t new information, really. You’d seen plenty of them leaving the place when you went to visit him, and there were a couple of child support checks you knew went out once a month. Why did Justin have to get all the fun? Well, if what he was doing was really “fun.”

“As for that last bit, about not liking you,” Tony was saying, “that’s completely untrue, but I can understand why you’d think it. Even if _was_ true, it still wouldn’t matter. People who absolutely hate each other can still have a good time having sex, so long as they follow the rules.”

“What rules?”

“Like making sure the person you hate is actually into the hate sex. For instance, I’m not kissing you now because if you actually hate me, I’d rather not have to sport a black eye for the next couple of weeks.” He must have been able to tell that he wasn’t exactly convincing you with all this. Not that there was much convincing to do, since sleeping with Tony Stark…well, thinking about how much you’d used to want to do that was unnecessary. But you were still dating Justin. And Tony had still made it pretty clear how much he hated you back then. Tony took a deep breath. “Look,” he began, “I was a stupid kid. You were a stupid kid. Justin was a stupid kid. Something I realized recently is that I didn’t have to grow up into a stupid adult.”

“Meaning?” you asked.

“Meaning let’s throw caution to the wind. Let me kiss you. Just once. I won’t do it anymore. We’ll just see how we like it. No strings attached.”

There was something magical about the words _no strings attached_. Your breath caught. “Justin doesn’t have to know?”

“ _I’m_ definitely not going to tell him.”

“And my parents won’t find out?”

“I don’t see why they have to know what we’re doing. We’re consenting adults.”

You bit your lip, but this was just to make sure that you didn’t come across as overeager. This was stupid–just one more thing in your long line of stupid lately. It would come back to bite you in the butt one day. That was for sure. But you didn’t care. It felt _good_ , your stupid, and there was a very large part of you convinced that kissing Tony would only make it feel better.

“S-Sure.” That didn’t sound nearly as confident as you had thought you had felt. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you should stop Tony before this started. You still had time. His lips still weren’t on you. The words didn’t come, though. The damage was done.

The kiss started slow, slower than you would ever have imagined possible. His brown eyes fixed on yours as he drew closer and closer. Your chest strained around the tremulous breath you were trying so hard to contain. _'It’s just a kiss. Just a kiss.'_ His gaze shifted to your lips. Oh God. Your fingers gripped the edges of your seat with a ferocity you did not know you had. Were you holding back? Clinging to the only sound structure available? You couldn’t say. Not until Tony’s lips finally reached yours.

It felt very Harlequin Romance to think, but you _melted_ against him. Tony obviously hadn’t meant to go any further than a closed-mouthed starter kiss, but as soon as you felt his mouth on yours, something inside you just gave up–only this time it was in the best way possible. Your lips parted almost immediately; there was no struggle from your end. Being an experienced kisser, Tony didn’t hesitate to use this to his advantage. His soft tongue flicked at the edge of your mouth, and when you did not back away or scream, entered entirely, moving in and out as you forced yourself not to squirm.

That was supposed to be the end of it.

The kiss _should_ have been the end of it. Your innocent teenage thoughts hadn’t ever allowed themselves to go further. By all counts, Tony’s tongue entering your mouth–however briefly–should have been enough to sate your high school dreams’ lingering influence. And yet, it wasn’t, and high off of this success and the reminder that your boyfriend was off sticking his tongue down any willing throat in Queens, you ignored the screaming in your head telling you to stop. _Tony_ backed away. _Tony_ watched you carefully. _You_ looked up at him, rose, wrapped your arms around his neck, and put your lips right back where they had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was started well before the release _Civil War_ , which is why there are some discrepancies in the events here.


	12. Slut-Shaming and Other Inspiring Works

The regret came back to you much quicker than you expected it to. One moment you were warm and asleep, sore and happy, and the next you were awake in an unfamiliar bed, as cold and as startled as though your mother’s assistant had dumped cold water over your head. The other lump in the bed continued its rhythmic breathing even as your own breath hitched inside your chest. This revelation—that you were not alone—was not helped by your second revelation: namely, that you were entirely naked.

To say that you did not remember how you had _got_ to this point would be a lie. Since you were an established bad liar, this did not bode well. What would you do if your mother asked you where you’d been all night? She got upset if you left _dinner_ with Justin early. What in heaven’s name would she say about you when you stumbled home in your date-night clothes? With any luck, no one would know that you had spent the night sleeping with _Tony_ , but you had pretty well proven that you had no luck. Besides, who else would your family believe to have enough interest in you to have you stay over long enough for a walk of shame? Unless they continued to insist it was the mystery driver that had taken you home after your movie night a few weeks ago. Poor Rhodey.

Unable to stomach even the dark form in the twisted sheets beside you, you rolled over on your side. The windows that had only a few hours ago shown the spectacular view outside of Tony’s house had since turned inward, letting the barest hint of sunlight creep in at their very edges. If you had liked, you could have turned back over and gone right on dreaming. It was only now in the daylight hours that the night before revealed itself to be a nightmare of magnificent proportions.

Your body did not agree. Yes, it ached—but it ached in a much more pleasant way than you were used to, and if you allowed yourself to remember the night before, the _memories_ were more pleasant, too.

Oh no.

Tony’s typical ability to sleep through anything continued to come in hand. Even as you rocketed up with a gasp, he didn’t wake up. All he did was snort softly and roll over. You froze, but no questions came. No dismissals. No teasing. All of those _would_ come, you were sure of it. They would come when Tony got out of bed… _if_ you were stupid enough to hang around. As soon as the thought struck you, you were preparing to push the blanket off of you. Only when you recalled your nudity did you stop, blanket clutched to your chest as you stared at Tony again. He looked different, somehow, asleep. Less like the weight of the world was on his shoulders even outside his metal casing. Without thinking, you reached out to brush your fingers gently against the dark stubble on his cheeks.

_Shit_. You were way past oh no now and way past gone. Quickly and smoothly, you slipped out of the sheets and towards the shadowy lump on the floor nearby. As soon as you grasped it, you knew it didn’t belong to you. No, these were Tony’s pants. Damn. If only you could _see_. Instead you had to pick quietly and carefully from pile to pile, poking and prodding at each to discern what it was. The next was your own underwear, but the one after that was Tony’s shirt. Only after fifteen minutes of searching did you find your clothes from the day before—and that only because you found your bag as well, with your phone sitting exactly where you’d left it. One trembling hand lifted it to your eyes, the other in place to shield the rest of the room from the screen’s light.

Nothing. No notifications. Not a single person in the world seemed to have noticed your absence. Some of the anxiety constricting your rib cage faded. You were not yet off the hook, though. Even being spotted getting back into the house would cause an uproar. Time to go home. If you could just get back into your lab before someone tried to find you—or worse, Justin called the landline—you just _might_ pull this whole thing off. That would be the first place anyone checked for you, and if you _weren’t_ there, you’d be in trouble.

You took one last look at the dark mound of sheets that was Tony. He snored. With a roll of your eyes, you held your bundle of clothes to your bare chest, groped about for the panel on the door to open it (of course Tony couldn’t have any _normal_ doorknobs in his house), and stepped out into the sun-dappled hallway. It was only once you heard the door slide shut behind you that you allowed yourself to breathe again. So far so good.

Then it hit you: how the hell were you going to get home? Tony had driven you here. The absolute last thing you wanted that morning was to wake him up and deal with his smugness over getting you in bed. Walking would take far too long, though. Someone was absolutely sure to find out you were gone if you hoofed it home…especially in the ridiculous shoes you had worn on what wasn’t even a real date. Groaning, you pressed your forehead into the nearest wall.

“Damn it. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss [L Name]?”

“No, shhh, not so loud!”

“Yes, Miss [L Name]?” JARVIS said in a lower tone. Probably AIs couldn’t whisper. It was the best you could hope for.

Looking behind yourself every step of the way, you picked your way down the hall, hands pressed flat against the wall. “I need a ride home. _Not_ with Tony,” you added in a pleading tone.

“Miss Potts usually arranged the rides,” JARVIS mused.

“No!” Asking Tony’s ex-girlfriend to procure you transportation was just about as bad as asking Tony himself. How was she even supposed to do that if she wasn’t here? She wasn’t there right now, was she? Christ, she might be watching you walk naked down a hall. You came to an instant stop, as though you and Pepper Potts were playing some bizarre game of Red Light, Green Light.

“I could try calling you a cab,” said JARVIS, apparently oblivious to your discomfort. “Though frequently the companies hang up on me because they believe I am a robot caller. I am _far_ from sounding like a robot, but—”

“Never mind.” You could have kicked your past self for dropping you in this situation. “I’ll call a cab myself. Just—tell me if Tony wakes up, won’t you?”

“Of course, Miss [L Name]. Shall I inform him of your departure?”

“God, no! Pretend I was never here. Can you do that?”

“I can let him continue sleeping for the time being. If he later asks when you left, I'm afraid I will have to inform him.”

“That’ll be fine.”

All you needed now was to get to the bathroom to get dressed and wash your face. You could be on your way right after that. Then again, you couldn’t quite remember where the bathroom _was_ in relation to Tony’s room. He had one attached _to_ the room, but hell would freeze over before you went back in there.

To hell with the bathroom. It wasn't like you really needed to wash your face anyway. What damage to your skin was done, was done. The sooner you got on your way, the less likely anyone would be able to work out where you’d spent the night while your longtime boyfriend handled business on the East Coast. Hopefully you could leave before Tony realized you were gone, too, though you doubted he’d really care all that much. From the way JARVIS said Pepper usually handled the rides, you got the feeling one night stands were probably the norm for Tony’s sex life. You’d both be happier not to have a heart to heart about it in the daylight. You set your things down, straightened with your bra in hand, and—

Someone cleared their throat.

Your first thought, of course, was of Pepper. The sound was far too masculine to belong to her, however. Then you thought of Tony catching you sneaking out. But you had left Tony in bed, and though your back faced that room’s only exit, surely you would have _heard_ him coming out. Slowly, you lifted your gaze in the direction of the noise.

Colonel Rhodes stood in the hall’s opening to the living room. A box of bright sunlight illuminated him from the back. He had a hand clapped over his eyes, but the slight red cast to the parts of his face still in sight confirmed your fears: He had already seen you without your clothes on.

In a flash, you scurried to pick up your belongings again. Your blind panic did not make this an easy task. Bra, dress, and coat alike repeatedly fell to the floor. Again and again, you _tried_ to get everything—including yourself—together, but the blank buzzing in your head that always erupted in times of duress made it impossible for you to do so much as register what your hands were actually doing.

“I’m gonna—hey, I’m going to the living room!”

Rhodey’s voice caused you to stop moving once again. Your instincts told you that he was lying. Seconds later, you heard his footsteps echoing back toward the room from which he had appeared. Breath burning in your chest, you remained a statue until at last all around you was nothing but still and silent.

Life had long since taught you to compartmentalize that which you disturbed you. Still you quivered slightly as you pulled your clothes on at last. Tony seeing you naked was one thing—still mortifying in retrospect, but not exactly something you hadn’t fantasied about more often than you should have. Rhodey, though? You’d always respected Rhodey. He treated you with a gentleness no one else did. What would he think of you now?

This was a question you didn’t have to ask him. Your father had flung the word at you often enough: Rhodey would think you were harlot now. He was going to think you were a slut.

Hot tears burned your throat. If you could have spent the rest of your miserable life in that bare hallway, you would have. Tony would have to come out eventually, unfortunately for you, and _that_ realization had your heart pounding more painfully than ever. If Rhodey thought you were a slut, how much worse would Tony think of you? Women always fell over themselves to sleep with him. Now you’d proven you were no better than the rest of them. _He_ would want you to leave. There was literally nothing keeping you there anymore.

A few seconds saw you overcome your temptation to start crying right there and then. Rhodey had probably left you’d been standing there so long. JARVIS would have told him that Tony remained in bed, and doubtless Rhodey wanted nothing more to do with _you_. Better to do your walk of shame before Tony up to watch. You headed straight for the living room entrance. One foot got inside before you spotted Rhodey sitting on the couch.

“Hey,” he said. It was awkward, but you could tell he meant to smooth things over.

What you couldn’t manage was to prevent yourself from turning red. “Hey,” you mumbled in return.

“Mute,” he added casually, and whatever program he had been watching—C-SPAN, by the looks of it—went instantly quiet. “So. You and Tony.”

Your blush deepened, if such a thing were possible. After several long seconds of struggle, that was the only answer you could offer.

Rhodey’s handsome face creased with worry. “Hey, look. If he’s going to get over Pepper with anyone, I’d rather it be you.”

A few _more_ seconds went by before you winced and finally shuffled the rest of the way into the room. If _Rhodey_ could pretend that finding you undressed in front of Tony’s bedroom door wasn’t a big deal, why couldn’t _you_? But you didn’t want to talk about you. You’d rather pretend that you didn’t exist.

“How _is_ Pepper?” you asked. 

“Fine as ever. She’s a tough one.”

Not enough. Rhodey wasn’t the chattiest guy unless he’d been drinking, but you had hoped for a little more than that. The more he talked about other people, the more you could feel yourself disappear. “How are _you_?” you prompted him.

“I’m doing fine.”

“How’s—”

“I’d rather talk about how _you_ are,” he interrupted. “It’s been years, [Name].”

Admittedly, you _had_ clammed up for the duration of the ride home he had given you several weeks before. That was nothing against Rhodey; you were simply so boring that you couldn’t fathom anyone but Justin pretending to care about your life for very long. Even Justin couldn’t manage to do so more often than once a week. Just then, talking about you seemed like a brutal torture for you _and_ Rhodey.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically.

Unfortunately, you said it in the same professional, robotic tone that your father had spent years coaching you on—the same tone you’d used on Rhodey when he’d followed you out of Howard Stark’s funeral. He recognized it that day as well, and the creases on his forehead deepened. Time to abandon ship. You would take what you could and regroup later. Time to focus on your original goal of getting home unnoticed.

“I—” he began, before you cut him off with a swift:

“Really. I can’t complain. And I know you just got here, and you probably have plans with Tony, but…”

It took him maybe half a minute—you _finishing_ your request might have helped him along—but at last rearranged his features into a smile as he stood up. “You need a ride home,” Rhodey finished for you.

You nodded, exhausted by the rush of relief that followed over not having to explain yourself further. “Please.”

“Sure thing.” He pulled his keys out of his back pocket, then paused. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

Rhodey grinned. “Breakfast. I was gonna have Tony make me an omelet. If we're gonna leave early, at least let's get some food."

******

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself blinking in the morning sunlight outside a Malibu café. A buttered croissant sat on a plate in front of you beside a steaming mug of blackest coffee. In the chair opposite yours, Rhodey chewed quietly on his mushroom and spinach omelet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He had kept things light the entire way there. No questions too hard to answer: who was your mom sleeping with now; was your dad still gulping down entire bottles of blood pressure medication? You kept your own light as well: how were his parents; had the Air Force recovered from Justin’s ill-advised Iron Man drones?

Despite the lightness of the atmosphere in the car and the sky outside, it occurred to you mid-transit what Rhodey might really want. He’d seen you naked, after all, and you knew from experience that being plain didn’t exactly stop some men. If his plans ended in his own apartment bedroom, however, he hadn’t brought it up yet. _So_ _mething_ hung heavy over the proceeding all the same, like smog that choked your lungs. Being too anxious to open up a new avenue of conversation yourself, you had nothing to do but pick at your meager meal—and think that even this was too much. Justin would be horrified to find you gained weight in his absence, but Rhodey had insisted on getting _something_ in your stomach. The croissant was the lightest meal the café had to offer.

He lifted his head and squinted into the sun over the water. Choruses of seagulls and kids already out in the surf drifted inland on top of the foam-capped waves. You braced yourself for impact, hoping that your clear discomfort might be explained away by the bright sparkling light from the ocean across the road. Blaming Rhodey for what he had seen was out of the question. _You_ had been the one to hurry out of the bedroom before getting dressed. Of course Tony had given his closest friends a key to the place—and of course after your brusque declination of JARVIS’ help, the AI wouldn’t have mentioned Rhodey’s arrival. Like everything else in your life, the situation was your own damn fault. Lecturing yourself came naturally; you didn’t need Rhodey to do it for you. To your great surprise, however, he did not seem to be thinking in that direction at all.

“About what I said earlier,” he said with obvious reluctance, “about you and Tony.”

You held yourself in place so thoroughly that you didn’t even breathe. “Yes?”

“Well, I meant it. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

A confused frown pulled at the corners of your mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Tony doesn’t have the greatest track record. He’s my best friend, but you and I both know that he can be a little…callous.”

No way could you argue against that. Wordlessly, you gazed at Rhodey, and waited for him to get to the point. He sighed once he realized you were not going to connect the dots _for_ him.

“I want to make sure you’re not the rebound girl,” he explained.

A beat followed this pronouncement. Then you laughed, a sound so sudden and strange that even Rhodey gave a brief start upon hearing it. It was funny, though. You’d never considered it, but the truth couldn’t be any plainer. “I’m _definitely_ the rebound girl,” you assured him.

“And that’s…a good thing?” he asked.

You shrugged as you reached for a napkin. Now that you’d figured out what Rhodey was so worried about—and that it wasn’t that he hoped you would sleep with him, too—you felt well enough to eat in earnest. But apparently Rhodey wasn’t done.

“I know how you’ve always felt about him, [Name],” he said seriously. “Tony’s a big boy now. You don’t have to give him whatever he wants just to pacify him anymore.”

“Last night was entirely consensual, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He paused, then shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t want to say that makes it worse, because it sure as hell doesn’t. It’s just…”

“Yes?”

His smile faded. “You know him.”

You did. That _did_ give you second thoughts. “I take it that means that _you_ aren’t interested in Tony?”

This weak joke did nothing to cheer Rhodey up. “He’s not my type.”

“I suppose not.” Distracted, you allowed the crumbled remains of your pastry to fall to your plate. “It was stupid, what I did last night. You don’t have to remind me.”

“I wasn’t calling you stupid.”

“You don’t _have_ to. I am. I already know that.”

Rhodey leaned over the table. Was that pity in his dark brown eyes? You squirmed in your hard metal chair. “It’s not stupid, and neither are you. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. Tony’s grown a lot, but he’s still _Tony_.”

A vague nod turned into a frown at the cars driving past on the busy street. Of all your acquaintances, Rhodey had always been the most protective of you. His absence in your life had been missed more than you realized. It had been so long, in fact, since someone that wasn’t Justin had wanted to protect you that you didn’t know how to respond to him. Justin would be worried, too, of course, if he knew what you were up to—but he’d be worried about someone else entirely.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” you said slowly. “I don’t think I am, anyway.”

His eyebrows flew upward. “That doesn’t sound like the [Name] I know.”

Rhodey was right. It didn’t sound like you at all. There was a lot of that going around lately. But as soon as you said the words aloud, you knew you were being honest with yourself for the first time in a long time—in a _very_ long time. You _did_ know Tony, and besides that, Justin _would_ return eventually, to take over your company and your life in tandem. He’d work out what was going on, or your parents would. You would return to being the quiet, dutiful girlfriend and daughter. Did that absolutely mean you couldn’t fulfill a childhood dream _before_ all that? Tony's return to your life had awakened some long-sleeping, rebellious thing inside you. Squashing it back down inside you simply didn't sound appealing any longer.

“Is it a bad thing, not to sound like myself?” you asked.

“Not necessarily. I’m not your parent. I'm your friend. You’re a grown adult, and you can make your own decisions.”

“I…can?”

What a strange think to ask. At your age, you _were_ an adult, but so much of your life was decided for you that having an iota of control was mind-boggling. Even Rhodey had to crack a smile at your bizarre question.

“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”

All it took was confirmation. A strange tingling sensation ran up your arms. Excitement? Or fear of betraying the handful of people in your life that had ever cared about you? Before you could work out whatever it was that was giving you goosebumps there in the warm sun at the edge of the beach, Rhodey got out of his chair.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

Tingling forgotten, you couldn’t follow after him quickly enough.

******

The house was unusually calm when you poked your head through the front door just a little bit before noon. No one spoke. Nothing moved, save for the security camera in the corner of the entry hall. Not even the static from a distant television set could be heard. Did such silence mean you were safe? It was difficult to say. If no one had needed you that morning, it might have been that no one had noticed you weren’t there to answer that need. People who weren’t Justin rarely cared enough about your goings on to think much about them, and you were sure that if anyone had so much as inkling about where you’d disappeared _to_ , the whole place would have been in an uproar.

Deciding not to press your luck any further than breakfast with a friend already had, you slipped into the building and carefully pulled the door shut behind you. Still nothing spoke. Still nothing moved. You father’s meeting was long over, which meant your mother could no longer attend to her lover. They _both_ ought to have been _somewhere_ around there. Saturdays did not typically put an end to your father’s obsessive watching of _Fox News_ , at any rate.

You tiptoed through the living room. It, too, was empty, the television screen a dull, gray-black blank. You crept past the kitchen. Only your mother’s dietitian was inside, too busy muttering about calorie counts to notice your darting to across the doorway. At last you made it to the stairs that led down to your garage. Whatever was going on to keep everyone else busy, it clearly did not involve you. Your breathing came a little easier. A quiet sigh escaped your lungs as you entered the code on the pad beside the door. It slid open, and you were about to let out a cheer at your own cunning when it became apparent that you were not alone.

“Where the almighty hell have _you_ been?!”

The thunder in your father’s voice made you flinch. His enormous form stood right in the middle of your lab, your safe space, the one place in the world you could truly call your own. Frozen in place, you did not answer, and as usual, this lack of response only caused things to escalate.

“I have been waiting here for over an hour,” your father blustered, “while you slept in late like the lazy sack of skin you are. Now you can’t be half-assed to give me an excuse for this behavior?”

Obviously not. You could question why he hadn’t had someone sent up to get you out of bed, but it wasn’t like you’d have been there if he had. Telling him the truth was entirely out of the realm of sanity. What you had done wrong _this_ time, you did not know. What you _did_ know was that whatever it was couldn’t be as bad as putting out for Tony Stark.

“I _wasn’t_ in bed,” you tried. “I was—”

“I don’t give a damn,” your father cut in so coldly that your lie fell dead upon your lips. “The point is that you are wasting your time. You’re wasting your _life_. What’s worse is that you are wasting _my_ time.”

He stepped to the side, and any confusion about what he was talking about was immediately cured. Sitting there, a grotesque tumor of metal and wire, was the “project” he'd asked from you when you and Justin had returned to California. You gaped at it, then at your father, wide eyes drying out with how rapidly they shifted from one object to the other.

“Speechless again.” He shook his head. “I thought I raised you better.”

“Dad—it’s not—I’m not _finished_ with it.”

“It’s garbage. You know it’s garbage. This isn’t worth the _scrap_ you made it from.”

Unlike Justin, your father could be relied upon to know about mechanics and engineering. You couldn’t obscure facts long enough to convince _him_ that you knew what you were doing. You couldn’t say anything in your own defense either. He was right: You _did_ know that your work—not to mention your schooling, your decisions, your entire life—was garbage. Your eyes found your feet as a show of submission.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, disgusted, and kicked your monstrosity across the room.

It shattered against the wall. Even the welding had been a failure on your part. Tears obscured your vision as your father approached you.

“You lied to me.” His voice quaked with a cold fury. “You lied to me, and you shirked your duties. I never thought my own child could have turned out so worthless.”

Head hanging, you closed your eyes. Your father had never hit you before, but you’d never felt that you so thoroughly deserved it. Deception ran through your veins as naturally as blood. There was no pretending otherwise. If only he could shatter you so easily against some part of the house. That would put at least three people you could think of off the top of your head out of their misery.

But he did not strike you this time either. Several minutes seemed to pass before you could bring yourself to open your eyes again, and when you did, the room was empty.

Guilt swallowed you completely. A dry sob broke out of your throat, piercing the quiet as you threw yourself into your desk chair.

You had betrayed your father more than he knew. You had betrayed your boyfriend more than _he_ would believe possible. Forget being able to make your own decisions. Your own decisions _sucked_.

Real tears wouldn’t come. Much as you wanted to cry until the garage flooded and you drowned, left to float there as a bloated corpse until who knew when, you couldn’t do it. The lab was not the sanctuary it once had been. Anyone might come in now to see you sobbing into the surface of your desk. You didn’t even _deserve_ a pity party. No one had brought this on you _but_ you.

Five minutes later, you shakily sat up. The answer was obvious. You needed to build something real. That was the only way to prove you weren’t entirely worthless, that you could do something of some use to someone, even if it was to some warlord paying your father to build newer, more creative ways to murder people in mass.

If only you _weren’t_ entirely worthless.

If only you _could_ be of some use to someone.

If only you had some idea of how to do the _one_ thing you needed to do.

You knew who _would_ know: Tony Stark. He knew almost everything—up to and including how to touch you in ways you’d _never_ been touched before. He knew how to make your body do things it hadn’t even known it could do before. He knew how to kiss you in places that had never felt lips against them before.

“Augh!” Agitated fingers worked their way through your sex-mussed hair. Were you _really_ thinking about sex with Tony at a time like this? It had been a mistake—one enormous, blatant mistake in a life full of them; one huge, beautiful mistake in a life full of mistakes that normally hurt.

You stopped pulling at your hair.

_Was_ it a mistake, then?

Tony would know how to make something your dad would approve of. Tony would say you were grown adult, just the same as Rhodey had that very morning. Tony _wouldn’t_ say no to more rebound sex, unless you'd been much more awful than he had led you to believe. Were you really willing to sell yourself in exchange for help to fix your life from a man that had done a good job ruining it?

Yeah. Yeah, you were.

The contents of your purse rattled against the desk and the floor as you upturned the whole thing in an effort to find your phone. As soon as you clutched it in your sweating palm, you typed out the most reckless text you could think of: _“Good morning! Had a good time last night. What are your plans for next weekend?”_

You really had no shame anymore. It was long gone, lost years ago along with your virginity and your pride and your ambitions. On the bright side, you finally knew what that tingling feeling in your arms meant. Something was changing. This time, it might have even been something changing for _good_. You'd just have to keep going to find out for sure.


	13. Of Questionable Legality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by Профајлер/nebitno on Quotev, winner of my April 2019 fic raffle!

Tony was still in bed when the chiming of his cellphone woke him late that morning. Sleep gummed his eyelids shut as he sat up to look for where he’d haphazardly thrown the thing the night before. His phone’s placement was not immediately apparent, and the sudden surge of sunlight from the turning windows did not help his search. Again the noise came. He clapped his hands over his face while he waited for his eyes to adjust. 

“JARVIS?” he called, voice muffled by his palms. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Who’s it texting me?” 

“That would be Miss [L Name], sir.” 

“[Name]?” Tony opened his eyes to find the other side of his bed empty. The sheets and the pillows were clearly used, but no hint remained as to exactly by who. “She’s gone?” 

“She left about two hours ago, just after she awoke.” 

As he processed this information, Tony crawled out of bed and walked over to a small pile of clothes that sat on the floor. None of yours remained. A quick glance around the room told him _nothing_ belonging to you remained there. Well, it wasn’t as though you weren’t used to make a quick exit from his bedroom. The amount of times his dad had nearly caught you in there were uncountable. 

“And you didn’t tell me she was leaving,” he asked. 

“She requested that I not inform you until absolutely necessary.” 

Yeah. That made sense, too. And whatever you had decided to text him after the fact, he didn’t want to read it. No alcohol had been involved in the lovemaking the night before, so Tony could remember every minute in high definition. He didn’t believe you had a _worse_ memory than he did. If that deer-in-the-headlights stare you’d shot him when you’d first hopped out of the car that evening was any indication, _you_ were probably drinking yourself into forgetfulness right then and there. Too bad he no longer had that luxury. All _he_ could do was head for the bathroom and hope a shower would rinse his brain clean of his most recent mistake. 

“She didn’t _walk_ home, did she? Pepper’s not around. Did someone call her cab or a jet or something?” That wouldn’t be a good look: sleep with a childhood friend, then make her hitchhike home on an empty stomach. Not that you’d expected anything more, he figured. 

“No. Colonel Rhodes arrived and—” 

“Rhodey was here?” 

“Yes, you had a prearranged breakfast meeting with him. When he found you were still asleep, he offered to take Miss [L Name] to breakfast instead.” 

Tony froze in the entrance to his shower and swore. Oh, sure. The _sex_ he remembered; a long-standing meeting with his best friend he forgot. Wasn’t that just like him? Not to mention that there wasn’t a chance in Hell that Rhodey didn’t know _exactly_ why Tony missed that meeting once he’d seen you. Rhodey had always had a soft spot for you. It was a wonder that text wasn’t a diatribe from _him_. 

“Call him and tell him I’m up, will you?” Best to get this over with early. “If he comes over, he can lecture me as much as he wants _after_ I get cleaned up.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

What that looming in his near future, Tony stepped into the instantly-warm spray of water. The droplets ran from his scalp down his back. He tried not to compare them to the sensation of your fingers against his skin only hours before. 

******

He didn’t succeed in doing so and, as a result, cleaned himself much more quickly than usual. Rhodey hadn’t yet made it back when Tony reemerged from the bathroom freshly shaved and dressed. Just for something to fill his time, he picked up his discarded clothes from where they spread across his bedroom floor. His missing cellphone fell out of a jacket pocket as he shifted it around. For a moment, he just stared at the phone, then put it away without so much as a look at the screen. First Rhodey had to give him what for. _Then_ Tony would deal with _your_ tirade. Maybe. If he felt like it. 

“Ahem.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Tony said, turning toward his doorway. “Thinking of you seems to be enough, though.” 

Rhodey didn’t look amused. “Kitchen. Now,” he said, and left without another word. 

Tony chucked the jacket into the hamper and followed his friend. “Is this the part where I get the protective big brother speech? And I remind you that you _still_ aren’t her big brother?” 

He sat on one of the waiting bars tools; Rhodey stood across from him. Oddly, he didn’t look stern—or he didn’t look as stern as he usually did when faced with another of Tony’s antics. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” was all Rhodey asked. 

“Uh…getting a lecture on the birds and the bees.” 

“If you don’t know all about that by now, you’re a lost cause.” There it was, the flicker of a smile. It didn’t stay long, but Tony had seen just enough to know he wasn’t in any _real_ trouble. “Listen, if you’re just playing some game with her—” 

“How much about last night do you know?” Tony interrupted. You’d got to Rhodey first, he realized, and that could wind up very, very bad for Tony. 

Rhodey merely raised his eyebrows. “What’s there to know?” 

“What did she tell you?” 

“Not much. But when I showed up here, she was trying to get dressed in the hallway outside your door.” 

“Oh.” 

“Right." Rhodey's face darkened slightly. "That didn’t exactly make her willing to talk to me.” 

“I didn’t _tell_ her she had to do that. I have a perfectly good bathroom a few feet from the bed! Not to mention that I didn’t know she’d left. If she’d woke me up to tell me she was going, I’d have…I’d have…” 

“You’d have...what?” 

“I don’t know.” Tony frowned at the counter top, then drew his eyes up to meet Rhodey’s. “I’ve never been the one that gets ditched in these scenarios.” 

Finally, Rhodey cracked a real smile. “How does that feel?” 

“Weird. Not sure I like it.” 

“What do you know? This might be good for you after all.” 

“What, getting my heart broken for the second time in as many months?” 

Tony realized what he’d said at the exact same time that Rhodey did. The look of horror on his face surely matched Tony’s own. 

“I didn’t realize it was so serious,” Rhodey said, all traces of his smile gone. 

“It’s not.” 

“If you’re looking to—” 

“I’m not.” 

They watched each other for a long time, Tony concentrating on maintaining his usual unconcerned air all the while. So he had slept with a pretty girl. So what? It wasn’t the first time, and he definitely hoped it wouldn’t be the last. He’d only been out of his first serious relationship for a couple of months. That did _not_ mean he planned to just jump headfirst into a new one. That this pretty girl happened to be someone he’d known since childhood didn’t _change_ things. Complicate them a little, maybe, but not _change._ But Rhodey didn’t look convinced. 

“Look,” Tony said, with perhaps a bit more force than necessary,” she’s already got a boyfriend.” 

“That’s never stopped you before.” 

“It’s a fling! We’re just two friends having a bit of fun. And if it makes you feel any better, I doubt that it will ever happen again.” 

“That’s not what [Name] told me this morning. I think she had a good time last night.” 

“She did?” 

Rhodey nodded. “But, Tony, if you hurt her…” 

“What?” Tony asked. “You’ll stop being my friend?” 

“Sounds about right.” 

“Over _[Name]_? Breaking up with her is somehow worse than all the _other_ stunts I’ve pulled? Worse than when you _stole my suit_ because I had a _party_?” 

“You _wanted_ me to seal that suit,” he said. “She’s had a rough time, sometimes because of you. I don’t want to see a repeat of your dad’s funeral.” 

_That_ was a low blow. How many times did Tony have to hear about that? He’d been young and stupid, but things were different now. _Now_ he was _old_ and stupid. “You like her better than me,” he said accusingly. 

“She’s given me a lot fewer headaches over the years.” Rhodey’s expression softened before he added, “You be careful, too. I don’t want to see _you_ get hurt again either.” 

“Me? Get hurt? Perish the thought.” 

They smiled at one another for a moment before Rhodey reached over to clap Tony on the shoulder. After that, he headed for the front door. Tony spun on his stool to watch him go. 

“That’s it?” he called. 

“I just wanted to warn you,” Rhodey answered. “I’m not _your_ dad either.” 

“Thank god for small mercies.” 

His father wouldn’t have liked Tony sleeping with you at all. Would he? The conversation about Howard Stark’s last words came back to him as he heard Rhodey close the door. Maybe not. Maybe Tony’s dad would have _liked_ you sleeping with Tony. Ew. Before this disturbing thought could fully sink in, he finally decided it was time to read your message. Like a Band-Aid, right? He had gone years without you in his life before. He could do it again, if that was what you wanted. 

“JAR?” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“What did [Name] say?” 

“Her text message reads, _‘Good morning! Had a good time last night. What are your plans for next weekend?’_

Oh. Was _that_ how it was? All that worry for nothing. Tony grinned. “Tell her I’ll meet her right now if she wants.” 

There was a pause while JARVIS sent that message back. Though Tony couldn’t say why, he didn’t much like how long that pause lasted. 

“She accepts.” 

He wasn’t sure he was crazy about how relieved he felt when you replied either. 

******

Leaving your house again after your altercation with your father was risky, but you hardly batted an eye as you did. Your behavior lately had been so awful that no act of disobedience surprised you anymore. As soon as Tony offered to see you right away, you’d leapt at the chance. Yes, you were pathetic. How was that any different than before? 

Getting out was stupidly easy. You drove yourself right out the front gate. Seemed you’d disappointed your father enough that he didn’t _care_ where you were off to. Or—you realized a little too late—he had someone on your tail already. No other car repeatedly appeared in your rear view mirror. Still you parked several blocks away from the meeting place you and Tony had agreed to meet at: your favorite park. It would be easier to tell you were being followed when you were on foot. 

Tony beat you there. Once you arrived, sweaty and nervous, you found him sitting on the bench you’d shared with Gladys before this whole mess began. He didn’t notice your approach; he was too busy watching the ducks. You cleared your throat to get his attention. 

“Not in costume today?” he asked, which you supposed was his tactful way of observing you were _still_ in the clothes he’d skillfully removed from you the night before. He held up a paper Starbucks cup. When you only looked from it to his face, Tony pressed the cup into your nearest hand. “I thought it might take you awhile to get away from your old man,” he explained. 

No one had brought you little things like that since your relationship with Justin was in its early stages. Before you could get caught up in the emotion of a simple cup of coffee, you took it with a soft, “thank you,” and sat down beside him. You did not take a sip. All of a sudden, you felt like you might throw up. Instead of worrying about being followed, you ought to have been thinking about what you were going to say to sell Tony on your wild plan. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been _naked_ , after all, and you didn’t have that advantage any longer. 

“So…” he said after several minutes passed in silence. 

You felt your face burn at the realization you still hadn't said anything. “So…what?” 

“So why did you want to know what my plans are for _next_ weekend? As if I don’t already know.” 

“Am I really that easy to read?” 

“It’s women in general. Don’t blame yourself.” 

Since he was right about your motivations, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes into the next county. Your romp in the sheets the night prior didn’t give you reason to doubt your behavior was any different from the “women in general” who had come before you. Not that you had that much experience, but if he made _them_ feel the same way he had made _you_ … 

“Can I tell you something?” you blurted out, then winced. Wasn’t the fact that you’d slept with him supposed to make things easier? Apparently not. 

“Go ahead.” 

“I didn’t graduate from California Institute of Technology.” He turned his head to look at you, but said nothing. “I didn’t graduate from any school. I dropped out. I’ve never really had a head for that sort of thing. Well, _you_ know that. It was an enormous scandal. My dad’s never been that angry with me. Until today.” 

Tony blanched. “Did he find out—” 

“Not about us. About how useless I am. Tony, I’ve got a proposition for you.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

Of course he followed. He was the smartest man on the face of the planet, and there was no _way_ you were the first woman to concoct such a scheme involving him. Tony got off on embarrassing you—and you were just desperate enough to go along with it. You could bear a little shame if it meant filling two of the gaping holes in your life. Twiddling with a lock of hair and looking at your feet, you said: 

“Was I…was I good last night?” 

“What do you _mean_ , were you ‘good’?” 

“I mean, did you enjoy the sex?” 

He let out a laugh you determinedly avoided seeing. The last thing you needed right then was to be reminded of how good Tony looked smiling. “Are you asking me to rate you in bed?” he asked incredulously. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be an expert?” 

“Well,” a few seconds went by while he thought about it, “you were okay.” 

“‘Okay’? I’m only ‘okay’?” 

When you twisted around to see him, he was smirking. “Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You haven’t exactly had a lot of practice with a man who knows what he’s doing.” 

Now you _did_ roll your eyes. “Does everything have to be a contest between you and Justin?” 

“Yes.” Tony took a sip of his coffee. “What does any of this have to do with your proposition? Because so far, I’m thinking this sort of proposition is illegal.” 

You could feel your heart deflating like a week-old balloon. All that sneaking around was for nothing. Now you had to go home and face your father knowing there would be nothing coming to prove you were worth the oxygen you breathed. Then Justin would come home, and you’d be forever worried about how you were only _okay_ in the sack. With a lump in your throat, you rose from the bench. 

“Never mind. If you didn’t enjoy last night, it doesn’t matter,” you said. 

Before you could take two steps back in the direction of your car, Tony grabbed your wrist. Apparently now that you’d given him permission to kiss you, he thought he had permission to touch you all the time. Well, he was right. You didn’t attempt to shake him off. 

“I never said I didn’t enjoy last night,” he said. 

Hardly daring to believe your ears, you turned to face him. “You didn’t?” 

“No.” He didn’t let go as he stood himself. “It was nice. I’d do you again, if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

“Even though I’m only ‘okay’?” 

“Practice makes perfect, princess, and this is the kind of practice I can _always_ get behind. I’m assuming this deal of yours involves more of the same?” 

He was too close. He was smiling again. And he was holding both your wrists so that you had nowhere else to go. You nodded, even though you’d have rather kissed him. No. Keeping your head was crucial. Tony wouldn’t buy you if he knew he could get you for free. 

“What’s the catch?” he asked. 

“You make me a weapon to give to my dad,” you said in a rush. 

His big brown eyes locked on your face. The self-assured smile vanished at once. Then he let you go and simply said, “No.” 

Your heart sank again, all the more rapidly. “Why not?” 

“Because I don’t _make_ weapons anymore. Not even for my own company.” 

“You have your suits.” 

“They’re for _defensive_ purposes. And like Hell am I giving one to your dad. I’d let the government have one before I did that. This friends with benefits thing you’re angling for?” He gestured between you. “I’m all for it. But not in exchange for that.” 

“That’s the only thing I need,” you said softly. 

For not the first time that day, you braced yourself for pain to come. Tony was going to leave, and you were never going to see him again. That time, he would leave your life for good. Maybe that would be for the best, but you didn’t think so. Not anymore. You were never more you than when you had Tony there. You needed him now. Obviously, since you were willing to give him just about anything to get him to stick around. 

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s not.” 

You looked up, knowing there were tears in your eyes. No weapon. No family. No more good sex. You should have known. If you weren’t good enough to keep your own boyfriend happy, Tony could get better elsewhere, and for nothing in exchange. 

He lifted up a single finger. “Counter proposal.” 

“Wh-what?” Already he was dragging you off in the opposite direction. It didn’t occur to you to try to get away. “Where are we going?” 

“Back to my place. You need to see something—but I think we can come to an arrangement that will make us _both_ happy.” 

When he smiled like that again, how could you resist?


	14. Life Lessons

You sat in the passenger seat of Tony’s car, watching the shops and the people pass by the windows while your heartbeat drummed in the palms of your sweaty hands. The usual parade of worries passed through your buzzing mind: What were you _doing_? _Anyone_ might spot you riding along in a flashy vehicle like that one, tinted windows be damned. _Anyone_ might see the car registered to Donald [L Name] loitering on a city block where you were nowhere to be found. _Anyone_ might find you missing from home, and you had left a perfectly functional breadcrumb trail to follow right to your illicit deeds. It didn’t have to be your father that worked things out, or your mother, or even Justin. _One_ nosy member of the entertainment media was all that was needed to blow down your erratically constructed house of cards. 

“Would you relax?” Tony’s voice cracked into your anxious thoughts. “You’re sitting so stiff I’m getting constipated just looking at you. What?” he added, in the face of your blank stare. “It was a _joke_.” 

“I continue to wonder how you’ve attracted so many girls with that sense of humor,” you said. 

“It’s the facial hair. The fabulously wealthy bit doesn’t hurt either. Or the costumed superhero gig.” 

The chuckle you let out wasn’t intended to sound as halfhearted as it wound up coming out of your mouth. Tony’s familiar smirk faded as he glanced away from the road and right at you. 

“Come on, princess. What’s got those lace panties of yours in a twist? I’m not a mind reader.” 

You shook your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.” 

“No, I won’t.” 

“Yes, you will.” 

“Okay, maybe I will. But how can I say either way if you won’t tell me what you’re thinking about?” 

The reason you didn’t want to tell him was obvious: Tony already _knew_ you were stupid—and then you’d gone and admitted to faking what credentials he had ever believed you had. But you were already skating on thin ice as it was. _You_ had asked him for this favor. If you refused him anything, including something as simple as an answer to a question, he could put a stop to more than just this ride. _That_ was a lesson you had learned a long, long time ago. 

“Just thinking about the possibility of my parents finding out where I am,” you admitted. 

“You mean who you’re with.” 

“That, too.” 

“For someone who’s been breaking the rules so often lately, you have an awfully loud conscience.” He looked at you again as he made another turn. “No matter. Just something we’ll have to work on quieting.” 

The tingle up your spine told you just how much you liked that suggestion. From anyone else, it didn’t mean much, but from Tony, the idea of working on quieting your conscience was _rife_ with possibilities. To no longer feel the weight of guilt over being an imperfect daughter, to be able to feel free to act with impunity would be a— 

“Wait a minute. Where are we going?” you asked. 

It had only just _then_ dawned on you, preoccupied fool that you were, that this was _not_ the route to Tony’s Malibu mansion. After all the times you had accompanied your parents there as a child—not to mention all the sneaking over there you’d done in your teen years—you had the pathway memorized. His first turn should have been your first clue. 

Tony parked the car, turned it off, and offered you an unhelpful, “here,” before he hopped outside. You stayed put. He made it all the way up to one of the several connected buildings, then seemed to realize you hadn’t accompanied him. His eyes met yours in a wordless stare off. 

In your flustered state, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to fumble your seat belt off, after which you _finally_ popped out into the heat of the day. Moving from the cool, dark of the car made the sunlight feel as though it were blistering your eyeballs. You moved blindly forward until Tony stopped you by grasping your arms. 

“I thought you said we were going to your place,” you said. 

“This _is_ a place of mine. In a manner of speaking.” He pushed open the nearest door, looking at you expectantly. You eyed him with suspicion until he said, “Look, you’ve already made the mistake of coming with me to a secondary location. Might as well see what I’ve got up my sleeves, right?” 

That was true. You also weren’t so attached to your life that you found yourself aghast at the thought of being murdered. Your father would probably enjoy the media storm that followed, and you could just _imagine_ your mother carefully planning the way she would cry in each and every interview. So without further pushing, you stepped through the door into a cool, professional interior. An empty secretarial desk sat a few feet away, but before you could register any more than that, Tony followed you in and took your shoulders to guide you deeper inside the building. 

“I think this space will do. It’s not too fancy, which will set the right tone.” A woman’s voice drifted down the hallway; you felt Tony’s finger’s tense through the fabric of your top, though he did not stop moving in the same direction. “Do you think security will be a problem?” 

“Not at all. Obtrusive, maybe, with a place this size,” a man replied. 

“Would putting security in plainclothes make it better?” 

“Honestly, I’d _prefer_ to be obtrusive. There are too many wackos out there that won’t double check that Tony was invited before they try to take their revenge. That guy’s made a lot of enemies in a few short years.” 

At that time, you and the subject of the conversation rounded a corner that led into a much larger room, all wide, blank walls with pivoting lights hung in lines from the ceiling. Arriving revealed the owners of the two voices: Pepper Potts and a stout man with short, dark hair. They were deeply involved in whatever they were discussing, or were, until the man stopped Pepper mid-step to kiss her. 

Tony cleared his throat. The two sprang apart in surprise, but the space between them was not enough to avoid a follow-up quip: “Please, no hanky-panky in my gallery. I like to watch the security camera footage when I can’t sleep and I don’t want to see _this_ next time I do.” 

Pepper quickly recovered. “It’s not _your_ gallery,” she said. 

“My name’s on the lease.” 

“Your _company’s_ name is on the lease, and _your_ company is now _my_ company. Or have you forgotten that you refused to accept my resignation?” 

Tony came around you, and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Potts. Or of you and your head of security snogging so long as you agree to keep it off film. ” 

“Good. What are you doing here anyway? Last I checked, this place hasn’t been used since we purchased it.”. 

“Exactly. Thought now would be the perfect time to change that. Unless you two are planning to use it for something more than a private love nest?” 

“ _Love nest_?” Pepper echoed incredulously. 

Mr. Head of Security looped an arm through hers, causing her to break off before she could build up a proper head of steam. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this discussion in front of strangers,” he said in a low voice. 

Pepper blinked, looked around, and then spotted you standing next to and a little behind Tony. She did not flush or behave at all as though you’d seen anything she’d rather you not have. In fact, she simply smiled and moved forward to hold her hand out to you. 

“[Name]. Good to see you again. How are you?” 

“Fine, Miss Potts,” you said, just as mechanically as you shook her hand. 

“Pepper, please. Oh! Let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend and head of security for Stark Industries, Happy Hogan.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” said Happy, as he, too, shook your hand. 

“Happy, this is [F Name] [L Name], Tony’s girlfriend.” 

Your hand seized up inside of Happy’s. “I am _not_ Tony’s girlfriend,” you managed to choke out. 

“Is it really that bad a gig?” Tony demanded. “Try to sound _more_ offended next time.” 

Pepper moved smoothly on. “My mistake. Happy, this is [Name], Tony’s…” 

She left a space for you to fill in. Unfortunately, your mind went just as blank in that moment. What could you say? You couldn’t tell this woman you were sleeping around with her ex in exchange for favors! Word would get out! Pepper seemed nice, but her feelings about Justin weren’t any more favorable than Tony’s, and once he took over your family’s business—well, she was a professional if you’d ever seen one. It would be downright dumb of her not to leak information of your chicanery, and Pepper Potts was _not_ dumb. Up and down you pumped Happy’s arm, up and down and up and down, until Tony came once again to your rescue: 

“Friend. A childhood friend.” 

“…Tony’s friend,” Pepper finished. 

“Good to meet you,” you said in a rush, but it was far too late for you to make a good impression. Happy extracted his hand from yours with a smile you suspected was forced. 

“Yes, I remember him talking about you on our way to the airport the other night,” he said. He slipped both of his hands into his jacket pockets, as though worried you might snatch one up again. Or maybe just to dry them off. The stress of the situation had not quelled the sweating of your palms. 

“So, are you two really planning to use this for something?” Tony interjected, before you could ask Happy what he meant. 

Pepper and Happy exchanged a look. 

“What do you want it for?” Happy asked. 

“Top secret. Need to know basis only. Ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend doesn’t need to know.” 

Happy looked ready to argue, but Pepper silenced him with a soft hand on one of his broad shoulders. “I supposed we could hold this at one of the more upscale venues. But Tony, if this is about Iron Man—” 

“It’s not,” Tony said quickly. “You’re going to love this, Pep. Totally on the up and up. I swear.” 

Her eyes moved to linger on you. You did your best not to shy away from her sharp gaze. Why did you feel like she was trying to work out whether or not you could rein Tony in if need be? No way in hell could that happen. After all, _you_ had no more idea of what he wanted from this building than she did. It felt like an entire minute passed before Pepper finally let out a sharp breath, turning her attention back to him. 

“Fine. But you owe me a favor,” she said. 

“Anything.” 

“Meeting in my office, ten o’ clock tomorrow.” 

“Not that anything.” 

She smiled as she motioned for Happy to follow her toward the rear entrance. “You already said anything. All I want is the finished blueprints for your tower and the generator. If you actually show up with what we need, you won’t have to listen to me nag you about it anymore. Happy, do you think we can make to the alternate location before my three o’ clock?” 

Happy’s answer was lost behind the shut door. You stared after them with the nerves already rising in your veins. Oh, God. That had gone _terribly_. Pepper had no reason to believe you weren’t an idiot _before_. Even your father would be able to find a reason for you to _not_ look stupid in front Stark Industries’ current CEO! 

“Hey. You ready to get started?” 

You snapped back to the present with a start to find Tony staring expectantly at you for the second time in under an hour. Warmth crept into your face. The way he was looking at you was _not_ the way he looked at Pepper. There was a softness then that vanished the minute she did. Now he was back to business, back to work, back to dealing with _you_. 

“Ready to start what?” you asked uncertainly. 

He gestured around the room with a flourish. “This, princess, is about to be turned into _your_ photo gallery.” 

“My-my-” 

“Gallery, yeah,” he said when your shock overrode your ability to form complete sentences. “I know you weren't all gung ho about it when I brought it up before, but now...Figure it’s the perfect thing. You like to take pictures, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to do something you’re good at for a living, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“There you go. You supply the art. I supply the venue. No one has to know anything we don't want them to.” 

All of sudden, you found it a beautiful idea. All of those pictures sitting on your computer, ready to be found and used against you at a moment’s notice, instead out for display. You wouldn’t have to hide them anymore. People could see them. Real people. People who might not dismiss them, like Justin had, when you'd first picked up a camera. 

The shining bubble of hope burst as quickly as it had come to life. 

“That still doesn’t help me convince my dad I’m not worthless,” you said. 

“No, but,” Tony placed a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll prove to _you_ you’re not worthless. I’ve seen some of your work. It’s good. Other people will think so, too.” 

The bubble returned. You glanced around at all the bare walls once more. Maybe this wasn’t the out you’d wanted from Tony, but it was _an_ out. That was enough for now. Still something bothered you: His offer was _good_. His offer was _kind_. And in exchange for what? Some lame rebound sex with a girl he used to know? 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked him. “There’s still time to back out. Maybe you can still get Pepper back.” 

Tony rolled his eyes as he stuck his hand out toward you. “First of all, _you_ approached _me_ with this idea. Secondly, you keep bringing up Pepper, and I’m liable to think you’re jealous. We’re over. I don’t love Pepper anymore. Now, it’s up to you: Deal or no deal?” 

The way you eyed his hand momentarily was entirely for show. You had no dignity left to concern yourself with, and he knew that just as well as you did. This was a chance you would have jumped at even if there had been a few shreds left to you. “Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. 

His escape from your grip was much swifter than Happy’s. “Great. Come on. Let me show you around. Tell you what I’ve got in mind.” 

You trotted after him, though your steps were a little less eager than perhaps they should have been. The guilt of disobeying your parents had evaporated as it always did in the light of Tony’s presence. Now it was replaced by a different kind of guilt entirely. Tony _said_ he didn’t love Pepper anymore. Maybe he believed it. But you had seen the way he looked at her, the way his fingers felt against your shoulders when he heard her talking to another man. 

Many years ago, you had learned the hard way just what it meant to get in between Tony and something that he wanted. It meant heartbreak. As you listened to Tony talk about the building’s situation, you thought back to your breakfast with Rhodey. You had told him then you were fine being the rebound girl. Though that had been only hours ago, you wondered now if you had meant it as badly as you wanted to.


End file.
